


Life on Mars

by littlepessimist



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 16-17 years old, ??? sort of???, Abuse, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Child Abuse, I just felt like writing, Letters, M/M, My First Fanfic, Swearing, They suck, and since, basically richie's parents, but mike and nancy are the same age they are in the show, eeeerr what else, i have no idea how it will end, i just wanted the losers to be like, idk - Freeform, idk i'll add more tags when i can think of them, just let me have this, none of that forgetting nonsense, or at least first published, there is this lovely platform called ao3, why not share
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-07 15:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlepessimist/pseuds/littlepessimist
Summary: Richie's life is upturned when he is finally sent away from his abusive home to live with his aunt and cousins in Hawkins, Indiana.





	1. Chapter One: It's a god awful small affair

**Author's Note:**

> There are some serious depictions of physical abuse in this chapter, so if that's triggering or just not your cup of tea, you may want to skip this.  
> This is my first little fanfic i've put here so I am nervous but excited! I will try to update regularly, but I am a full time student with a full time job sooooo that may not happen. I'll aim for a chapter a week, though.

He saw the first punch coming. Knew that his last stupid comment would be the one. The one that set his father off and turned the flame he’d been building into an inferno. He knew it was coming and couldn’t stop his mouth from spilling over. Mouth kept running. Words still falling. And he saw his father’s fists clench and his brows furrow and he knew it was coming.

  
Riche saw the first punch. He didn’t see the next.

  
The first fist connected with his cheek, and the second hit his stomach. Richie’s legs gave out, and in a moment his father slammed his heel into the back of his head, smashing Richie’s face into the ground, the crunch of his glasses bouncing off the walls as it shattered against his skin. Richie could barely groan before another kick hit its mark on his ribs and pushed the air out of his lungs. His father repeated the action again and again and Richie tried to turn toward the wall in retreat, but the motion was immediately detected and his father snatched his arm, wrenching him away and leaving his body open. Defenseless. Another kick, a punch. Split lip. Pounding head. Aching ribs. Each swing of his father’s leg—each released punch turning his pale freckled skin spotted and bloodied. But the motions were slowing, the fury subsiding, and Richie saw a small hesitation in his father’s swing.

  
And as quick as his broken body let him, he ran.

  
Richie ran from his father, pushing him into the couch where his mother was passed out. She made a small grunt and shoved his father away with two hands. His father was quickly standing back up, his breaths ragged with rage, but Richie was already turning to door knob and swinging the door wide. He raced outside, gasping for air with each step. _Get to Bill_ , he thought. _No—fuck he’s visiting his aunt._ Richie stumbled down the porch. _Can’t let Eds see me like this and he’s too far—Stan. His dad will let me in if I promise not to bleed on the rug again. Get to Stan._ With a limping run, Richie ran onto the gravel walkway, the pebbles piercing his bare feet with each step. G _et to Stan then call Eds. Stan then Eddie,_ he repeated. But then there was a shove.

  
Richie landed on his shoulder, the gravel scraping his arm and hands. With a wince, he lifted his head to see his father once again looming above, his eyes wide and hands clenched. His fist connected with Richie’s eye, letting a horrible smack sound out into the air. A hand grasped Richie’s shirt and dragged him back into every swing. His father seethed in anger at any attempt of escaping, yelling, “You can never,” – punch – “shut your god,” – punch – “damned mouth.” Richie tried to fight back, tried to turn away, to scream, but his arms laid at his side, heavy. His head too stuffed with blood. Fuzzy. Everything was fuzzy and each strike left him falling. Sound escaped him, his mouth too full of iron, his throat too sore. _Help,_ he tried. _Fucking help_.

  
The pace of the blows slowed, and Richie opened his swollen eyes to see his father breathing deeply, his chest raising and falling rapidly. He wiped sweat from his wrinkled brow, his face angry and satisfied. He had just beat his son and looked satisfied. Richie could not let that go.  
So his damaged throat managed to say, “Are you done yet?”

  
And with his rage returning and the flames in his eyes catching, his father pulled his bloodied fist back for another swing and Richie winced in anticipation.

“You fucking li—,” came from his father’s mouth before the next door neighbor tackled him into the grass.

  
Richie turned his head to see the neighbor (what was his name?) seated on his father’s back, pushing his face to the ground. A hand touched Richie’s shoulder and he looked to see his neighbor’s girlfriend crouched next to him, a cigarette hanging from her frown. “Don’t move, kid,” she whispered, accidentally breathing worried smoke in his face. A yell came from his dad, but Richie’s blurry head blocked out the sound and darkness seeped into his sight. Richie felt her manicured nails grip his shoulder and heard her say, “Fuck, stay awake,” before his eyes slipped shut.

  
And then he felt nothing.

  
………………..

  
The Wheeler family was sitting around the table eating beef stroganoff when they got a phone call. Karen looked in surprise at the phone, but turned back to Holly when she accidentally knocked her bowl over. “Ted, could you get that?” she asked her husband, but his mind was focused on shoveling noodles into his mouth and her words were left unheard. Sighing, Karen helped put some beef back into Holly’s bowl while the little girl sucked on a lock of blonde hair. “Nancy? Could you get the phone?”

  
Nancy looked up from her plate, annoyance in her expression. She had just gotten focused on the textbook sitting next to her food, and was not about to get distracted. She elbowed her little brother and mumbled, “Go get it.”

  
Mike, mouth full of beef, said, “I’m sorry, is my name Nancy?”

  
“Just get it,” she responded with a glare.

  
“Please, Mike,” his mother said, her eyes still on the fallen noodles. Mike huffed, raised his hands in stubborn defeat and walked to the ringing phone. He picked it up off the receiver and answered with his learned, “This is the Wheeler residence—may I ask who is calling?”

  
“Hello, this is Deborah from Child Safety Services of Maine. May I speak with Mrs. Karen Wheeler?” said the voice on the line. It was female and abnormally cheery.

  
Mike squinted in confusion and looked at the phone like he could see the woman on the other line. “Uh, give me a sec,” he said. “Mom, it’s for you.”

  
Karen let out an exhausted sigh, handed Holly back her fork, and rose from her seat. Mike gave her the phone and went to his seat.

  
Nancy watched him from the corner of her eye. “Who is it?” she asked. Mike shrugged his shoulders. He grabbed his fork and shoveled a large helping of stroganoff into his mouth. Nancy scrunched her nose in disgust while Karen gave the woman on the phone a forcefully cheery hello. She stood without responding for a moment, shifting from one foot to the next, until she muttered a small, “I see.” Karen then slowly pulled out the chair from the reading nook and sat herself down. Another hushed, “I see.” Mike and Nancy shared a look.

  
Karen was talking the way parents do when they don’t want anyone to hear, the calm, unnatural low tone that automatically sets a child on edge. She kept twirling the phone cord around her finger, but not the way she does when she’s having what she calls “scintillating conversation” with her lady friends. It was the way she spoke when her cousin told her about her cancer. When she got bad news. Even Holly noticed the difference, the four-year-old looking with her doe eyes at her mother’s fingers fumbling with the white cord. “I have to discuss it with my husband. Do you have a number that I can reach you?” She nodded and scribbled something onto the back of a bookmark, gave a small, “I’ll call you back—thank you,” and hung up the phone. Then, after a small gap of silence, Karen let her head fall into her hands and her shoulder hunch in a long, full bodied sigh. Mike and Nancy were too busy watching their mother to notice that Ted had gotten up and only saw his disappearance when he was suddenly crouched next to Karen. Without emotion, Karen said, “Let’s go to the kitchen,” and she and Ted left the kids at the table, confused and curious. Nancy helped Holly finish her dinner.


	2. Chapter Two: All the strangers came today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for you lovely comments! I said I would update in a week and I am trying my best to keep that up. I am trying to get this story going, so I hope this chapter doesn't feel rushed.  
> Thank you all again soooo much!  
> (also if it isn't already obvious, I have a problem with David Bowie and that problem is I love his music way too much)

Richie stirred at the sound of an alarm clock’s rhythmic beeping. Groaning, he scrunched his nose and tried to raise his arm to his face, but instantly winced at the pain in his ribs. “Shit,” he mumbled, the words bubbling uncomfortably from his abused throat.

“Richard—how are you feeling?” came an unknown voice. He squinted at the bright white lights above him to see a woman with a tight, strained smile. Her blonde hair was in a tight pony tail that pulled her skin back onto her skull.

Richie said, “Honestly, I’ve been better.” He tried to sit up, but that made the dull pain he was experiencing double, and he let out a quick breath from him teeth. He settled for raising his head. The woman’s smile twitched. “Where am I?”

“The hospital,” she answered. _Shit._ Squinting to make up for his poor vision, his eyes scanned the room to see the pale, white walls of a hospital room. On his right was a heart monitor, its beeping being the belligerent alarm that awoke him. Richie sniffed and looked back at the suited woman in front of him.

“And you are?”

Standing up straighter, she said, “My name is Deborah. I am from Child Safety Services.” _Shit shit shit._ Richie let his eyes close and his head fell back onto the pillow. “Fuck,” he whispered, and Deborah coughed.

“You’re taking me away, aren’t you?” Richie opened his eyes and saw that Deborah’s smile had vanished, replaced with a solemn, tight lipped purse. Richie sighed. With a poor British accent, he said, “Well that is entirely troublesome.” Deborah released her abused lips and gently tugged a chair close to the bed. Before sitting she brushed her pencil skirt with her hands and adjusted the shoulder pad on her blazer. Then she sat, placing her hands in her lap.

“Richard, I—,”

Her sentence was interrupted by the door swinging open.

“Jesus fucking Christ you look awful.”

With both hands still on the door, Stan stood in stunned silence, his thin eyebrows pinched in worry. His wrinkled sweater looked like it had been shoved on in a hurried rush, and his curly hair was not its usual neat, well placed waves, but completely unruly. Richie looked as wide-eyed as his swollen eyes would allow while Deborah simply stared at Stan, a look of horror on her face. Breaking the silence, Richie chuckled.

“Isn’t it, like, against your culture to fuck Jesus?”

Stan’s concerned expression relaxed slightly, his mouth twitching into a crooked smile. “Seriously, Rich? Really?”

Richie raised his hands, “Hey, just looking out for you, man. Don’t want your folks getting scared that their son fucks Jesus.”

Stan shook his head, “Yeah, I’ll just leave that to you, since you seem so eager to meet him.” He gestured gracefully at the bed-ridden boy before walking toward the bed and lightly shoving Richie’s legs over so he could sit on the mattress. “Eddie and Ben are on their way. Mike said he was gonna stop and buy you those dumb candies you love.”

“No way, pop rocks?” Stan rolled his eyes and nodded.

Richie tried to raise his arms in excitement, but instantly winced, his bruised ribs shooting pain up his sides and throughout his body.

“Take it easy, idiot,” Stan said.

Richie squinted at him in pain, a forced smile on his face. “You tell me my two loves, Eddie and pop rocks, are coming for me and don’t expect me to get excited? You are a cruel friend.” He sunk into his bed, his eyes closed. “I should just die and sleep with your boyfriend Jesus to spite you.”

“If you keep—,”

“Excuse me,” Deborah interrupted. Stan and Richie whipped their heads towards her, Richie following with a hushed cringe. “I don’t mean to interrupt this—,” she paused, “banter.” Stan raised an eyebrow at the woman.

“I’m sorry but Richard and I—we need to talk.”

…………………………….

“Kids, we need to talk,” Karen called.

Nancy and Mike had both helped clear the table and did the dishes after their parent’s mysterious departure from dinner. Karen and Ted had left the kids to themselves for hours, both the teens wondering in curious and concerned silence as the muted voices of their parents in their bedroom floated downstairs. Once the voices lingered into silence, Ted and Karen slowly made their way to the first floor, passed their kids, and went straight to the phone. Now, at the sound of their mother’s call, Mike jumped out of the La-Z-boy and ran to the dining room while Nancy grabbed her little sister, placed her on her hip, and carried her.

They were met with thick air and palatable tension. Karen’s red eyes studied the kids as they made their way into the room, her lips pinched and her hands forcefully folded on the wooden table. Ted sat beside her, his expression lacking the normal detached, glazed eyes the kids had always known. “Here, Nancy, I’ll take Holly,” Karen said, her voice steady and practiced.

Nancy handed her sister over before taking her normal seat next to her brother. Mike and Nancy shared a brief look before returning their gazes to their mother. Karen patted her daughter’s hair and fixed her little hair red hair bows before taking a deep breath and letting it out in one long continuous sigh.

“Do you two remember your aunt Maggie?” Nancy’s eyebrows shot up while Mike’s furrowed in confusion. Mike shook his head while Nancy nodded. Karen continued, “You were very young the last time we saw her. My sister and I—we don’t talk very much.” Karen kept smoothing Holly’s bangs, the little girl squirming under the movement. Ted put a hand on Karen’s shoulder, and Karen held the little girl out to him. He took her and bounced the blonde on his lap.

“Nancy, so you remember her?” Karen asked.

Nancy blinked before saying, “Yeah, I mean, she visited that one time at my birthday party or something, right?” Karen gave a small nod.

“And do you remember your cousin Richard? He’s about your age.”

She looked at the ceiling before answering with an affirmative, “He was there, too. He had some,” gesturing at her face, “really big glasses and said a bad word so he got a time out.” Mike gave a breathy laugh through his nose.

The group let a silence fall on them, the wall clock ticking in the kitchen, rhythmically timing the passing seconds. After letting out another sigh, Karen said, “My sister and her husband have a serious alcohol problem.” She picked at a crack in the table. “Apparently, your uncle Wentworth has been beating your cousin for years and was arrested this morning.” Both the kids gasped.

“Is he okay?” Mike asked.

Karen looked at him her expression blank. With tired eyes and a shaky breath, she stated, “He’s in the hospital. He’s going to stay there for a little while, until he’s all healed. Then he’ll leave.” Karen closed her eyes, straightened her back and let another silence blanket the room. Nancy covered her mouth with a hand while Mike chewed on his lips.

Then, with a voice firm, Karen said, “And then Richard is going to come live with us.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thnx for reading! As always, comments and critiques are welcome and encouraged.  
> Thank you and I will (hopefully) see you soon.


	3. Chapter Three: I'm the space invader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I already failed the "update once a week" promise I made. In my defense, this is finals week.  
> finals are mean.  
> also MERRY CHRISTMAS to all my Christmas celebrating readers.

“So, when is your cousin is moving in?” Dustin tossed his hat onto the sofa before plopping unceremoniously on the wooden chair by the table. He rocked it back and forth on the uneven legs.

“No idea—when he gets better I guess,” Mike responded. He pulled out his own chair, taking a seat. Will took the chair on Dustin’s right, quietly slipping into the seat before adjusting the collar of his sweater. His fingers tapped lightly on the cheap, fold out table they used for their games of Dungeons and Dragons.

“It’s really nice of your parents to let him live here.” Will picked at the plastic chipping on the table top. A slam from the top of the stairs made the three whip their heads around, and Max and Lucas quickly came down the steps. Lucas pulled out a foldable metal chair for Max, setting it up and brushing any dust off before letting her sit. She gave him a crinkled smile before sitting down and scooching the chair to next to Mike’s.

“Thanks, Lucas,” she said.

“Yeah, thanks Lucas,” Dustin responded, giving a mock, exaggerated sigh with his chin resting on his hand. Lucas shoved his head. Giggling, Dustin smacked his hand away before puckering his lips and making loud, dramatic kissing sounds. Max narrowed her eyes, reached across the table, and flicked his forehead.

Mike stood and grabbed his Dungeon Master screen from under the table, unfolding it. “Are we ready to start this new campaign, or are you going to beat up Dustin first?”

“I vote beat up Dustin,” Will said, arm stretched above his head.

“Second,” Lucas responded, flicking Dustin’s forehead again. Dustin swatted his hand away.

“Hey, I’m delicate!”

Lucas answered with a snort. Mike hushed the group, shaking his head in exasperation and laughter. They settled into their seats, Mike getting one flick on the back of Dustin’s head before handing out the player sheets and helping Max remember the hit point levels for her new Rogue character.

……….

“Do you even know where he’s going to sleep?” Jonathan asked, helping Nancy with the dishes from lunch. He turned the faucet off, testing the heat of the water with a wary dip of his hand before placing the plates into the sink.

Nancy shrugged. “No idea. Mom and Dad keep having private talks and stuff. A social worker even came over the other day.” She twitched her lips and furrowed her brows. “I don’t think they’ll tell us anything until they know for sure.” She leaned her hands against the counter, watching Jonathan from the side of her eye. He nodded before sniffing and rubbing his nose on his shoulder.

“The social worker—has she told you how he is?”

Placing a stray curl behind her ear, Nancy shook her head, “A little. Said he had a fractured rib or something. Apparently, we’ll have to help him ice it when he’s here.”

“No, I mean,” Jonathan paused, “I mean— how is he?”

He and Nancy shared a long, unflinching stare. A drop of water fell from the faucet before Nancy stated, “Not sure.” She picked at her fingernails. “I haven’t seen him in years. He was really goofy when he was little, but that was when he was ten or something.” Placing her chin on Jonathan’s left shoulder, she continued, “He talked really fast and had tons of energy. You think he’ll be a lot different?”

Jonathan shrugged, “Probably. Problems with parents—that stuff can really mess you up.” They let another silence gracefully fall as Jonathan placed washed dishes onto the strainer. Nancy left his side to grab a dish towel and started wiping the plates dry. With a tilt of her head, Nancy saw Jonathan’s eyes purposefully concentrating on the dishes, his hands scrubbing with force. Nancy picked up another plate.

“Did you dad do that to you?” she asked. Jonathan halted and whipped his head to her, focused eyes now furrowed with confusion. “Did he hit you?”

Jonathan sighed and shook his head no. “The most he did was hit me on the back of my head when I broke his favorite mug. He was more into,” he paused, “verbal assault.”  Nancy took his hand. Jonathan weaved their fingers together. “Mom would have killed him if he tried anything physical,” he said with a smile.

Nancy snorted, “Yeah she would have.” Raising their clasped hands, Jonathan ghosted his lips on Nancy’s knuckles before putting his dish-water-wet arm around her shoulder.

“It’ll be fine. He’s related to you,” he said, pausing to put a quick kiss on her forehead, before saying, “How bad could he be?”

……………………..

“OW OW JESUS FUCK YOU—YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?” Richie shouted, squirming away from the nurse.

“Richard, calm down, I’m just changing your bandage,” the nurse said, his voice calm and detached.

“BACK AWAY, DEVIL, IN THE NAME OF THE LORD.” Richie raised his hands to form a cross.

Sighing, the nurse reasoned, “Do I really have to sedate you just to change the bandage on your cheek? Calm down or you’ll irritate your stitches.” He reached toward the white bandage. With a quick swat of his arm, Richie smacked the offending hand away. The motion caused an ache in his damaged ribs, and he gave a loud wince through his teeth. The nurse took his hesitation as an opportunity, and snatched the bandage of with a quick pull. Richie yelped.

“Good, it’s off.” The nurse showed Richie the stained bandage, once white now tainted with yellow fluid. “I need to clean it so you don’t get a scar, alright?”

Richie tensed before giving a little chuckle. “But another scar will add to my street-cred. You know all about street-cred, right, my man?” The nurse shook his head, grabbing a cotton swab covered in an antiseptic gel. Richie’s shoulder’s hunched in pain when the swab connected with his stiches. In between shudders, he said, “I’m sure—ow—all the other nurses have stories about weird medical encounters and shit. You ever, like, had to get a toy out of someone’s ass or something?” The nurse scrunched his nose and Richie continued, “If you’ve done something like that, that’s some serious nurse-street-cred right there.”

The nurse grabbed a new bandage and gently placed it over the wound, pressing with a force that was unnecessarily strong. Before Richie could make a remark, the nurse stood and packed up his gauze and antiseptic. “What—leaving already? We just started learning about each other?” Richie called.

Before leaving the room, Richie caught the nurse mumble, “Christ, kid, no wonder he beat you.” The door slammed.

Richie sat in the bed, staring at the door, fingers smoothing and wrinkling his sterile hospital blanket. In the hall, he heard the passing feet of doctors and nurses, rushing to patients. Saw the faces of concerned family members walking, intent on finding their loved one’s room. In the stillness of his room, Richie willed himself not to pick at his stitches, firmly pushing his head back onto his pillow. _The guys are coming back tomorrow. The guys are coming back tomorrow_ he chanted internally, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his hands. Silence filled the room, and Richie snapped his fingers. Clicked his tongue. Anything to keep it from being quiet. With a long sigh, Richie forced himself to smile, the stretch of his face pulling on his stitches. Then, he said the first quote that came to his head.

“Would you stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he said. “It’s bad for your complexion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if you haven't noticed already, my go-to swear words irl are jesus and fuck. you'll see a lot of those in this fic.)  
> ((also ten points for the first person to name the movie that was quoted))


	4. Chapter Four: They're quite aware of what they're going through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return and I return with angst.  
> Thank you all for your lovely comments! I know I definitely haven't been updating as regularly as I would like. Work has been beating my ass lately and I just started back up with the spring semester, so I will likely follow this irregular updating pattern.  
> sorry

“WHAT?” Mike shouted.

“Lower your voice,” Karen stated, her tone short and forceful.

Mike rubbed his face, exasperated. “You’re kidding me right, Mom? My room? You’re giving him my room?” He was standing in front of his seated parents, his legs shaking. With fists clenched at his sides, Mike stared, his eyes switching between his mother and his father, them both looking back with furrowed brows and stiff lips. “Where am I supposed to sleep, huh?”

Ted spoke first, “In the basement. You and your friends practically live down there, anyway.” He pushed is oversized glasses up with his pointer finger.

Mike groaned, raising his arms above his head. “But it’s my room! Why don’t you just move Holly into Nancy’s room and give him hers?” Mike heard Nancy’s whispered gasp from the corner. Holly’s twisted her head to her brother at the sound of her name. She was silently brushing the hair of her Cabbage Patch Kid before Mike interrupted her focus. Now she was sucking on a lock of her own hair, her knees pulled up to her chest, hugging her doll.

“Mike, Holly is growing. She’s going to need her own space,” Karen spoke with finality. Her slight slouch showed her exhaustion, her hands clasped in her lap. Ted, seated on her left, buttoned up his cardigan.

“Now, son, we don’t have that many options here.” Mike rolled his eyes while Ted continued. “We considered getting one of those bunk beds for your room, but—,”

Karen interrupted, “We still don’t really know how Richard will—,” she paused, “—we’re not sure how he’ll be—emotionally. It might be best for him to have an area he can call his own.” She unclasped her hands and straightened her skirt.

“What, and I can’t?” Mike said, his volume rising. “He gets to just come here and take my room just because he might be a freaking psycho?”

Karen’s eyes widened. “Mike—,”

“Jeez, if you’re so afraid he’s going to be crazy, don’t bring him here in the first place—don’t punish me because of it! It’s not my fault your sister is such a—”

“MICHAEL WHEELER THAT IS ENOUGH,” Karen shouted, jumping to her feet. Mike mumbled to himself, looking at the ground. Holly stared up at him, sniffling slightly. She hugged her Cabbage Patch tighter. With a shaky inhalation, Karen spoke, her voice saturated in restrained anger. “Mike, I know this is difficult for you,” she took another breath, “but whether you like it or not, he is coming to live here. You will show him kindness and graciously give him your room, and you will happily sleep in the basement, knowing that both your parents are upstairs.”

“But mom—,” Mike reasoned.

“No buts.” She raised her hand in front of his face, her eyebrows pinched and her lips firmly pursed. With a slow exhale, Karen lowered her hand. She walked past Mike, left the room with slow steps, and went into the kitchen. Seconds after, Ted stood with an exaggerated groan. He adjusted the waist of his pants, pulling them higher on his slightly protruding stomach.

“You should be more grateful for what you have, son.” With a firm hand, he clasped Mike’s shoulder, who quickly shrugged him off. Ted ignored the action in favor of following his wife into the kitchen.

Mike stood rooted, his arms crossed, murmuring under his breath, “so stupid,” and, “bullshit.”

Nancy raised her eyebrows at him, her hands on her hips. “Well, someone’s a little selfish.”

Mike shot back, “I didn’t hear you offering up your room, did I?” He and Nancy shared a challenging stare before she sniffed, raising her head to look at him past her nose. She did a quick spin and left, running up stairs.

To her own bedroom.

Mike huffed.

……....

“So, your aunt and I have been in contact, and she has been made aware of the date of your release.” Deborah spoke, the pen in her hand writing unknown notes on her clipboard. Richie rubbed his nose, watching the pen scratch on the paper, occasionally halting the rhythm with dotting “I”s. Deborah sat in front of him, once again in her pencil skirt and sporting a shoulder padded jacket, but with her hair styled in close, overly poofy curls. He didn’t like the look for her.

“In two days, I will accompany you to the bus station in Portland. Your aunt tells me she will meet you halfway in Buffalo, and then you will make the rest of the journey with her.” She nodded at her notes, satisfied with the arrangement she had made. Brushing a curl from her cheek, Deborah read over her notes once more before quickly raising her head. “I heard you all helped Richard pack?”

In the corner, doing their best to blend into the wallpaper, were Stan, Mike, Ben, and Eddie. Upon entry into the room, Deborah had quickly corralled them to a single sofa and ordered that, “If you are not going to leave Richard and I alone, you had better be quiet.” They jumped at her addressing them. Deborah eyed them curiously, tapping her pen on her clip board. Mike spoke first.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, looking quickly from her to Richie. “We packed Richie’s clothes and records for him.” He kept his voice steady to distract from his obvious discomfort. His arms were raised in front of his chest, folded loosely, and his usually perfect posture was bent into a curved question mark. The other boys nodded, their body’s reflecting similar awkward tension. Richie pursed his lips, resisting the need to joke about their obvious fear.

“Great, be sure to help him bring it all to the bus station on Thursday.” She smacked her clipboard, making everyone jump, and abruptly stood, brushing her skirt. “I’ll see you then, Richard.”

“It’s Richie-,”

“Be sure to pack as compactly as possible,” she interrupted, pushing up her sleeve to read the time. “Keep icing your ribs.” Then, Deborah gave the boys in the corner a little smile and swiftly left the room, gently closing the door behind her. The four boys instantly sighed in relief. Richie let out a snort.

“Holy shit you guys. Relax. The she-beast is gone.” Ben sniffed and scratched his ear while Eddie rolled his eyes. Richie giggled, “Honestly, I thought only Ben was afraid of women after his run-in with the school librarian. Tell me, Benny old-boy, did her cooch really smell so bad you’ve been turned off all women but Bev?”

They group simultaneously stated, “Beep beep, Richie.”

“What, come on,” Richie continued, his laughter picking up. “She’s a fucking social worker, what do you think she’s going to do? Take you away, too?” He gave another belly laugh, his face flinching in subtle pain.

The boys all stood, their faces ashen and their fingers clenched. Mike and Ben shared a small glance before looking toward the ground. Stan looked directly at Richie, his eyebrows pinched. Rich let out another painful laugh, “Make sure when Bill gets here tomorrow that you let him know—don’t want him to make a scene and get taken away, too” Again, the group flinched.

Eddie spoke, “Richie, stop it—that’s not funny.”

“Come on, Eds, its a little funny.”

“No, it’s fucking stupid,” Eddie said, anger bubbling from his gut. He unconsciously reached for his absent fanny pack for his inhaler.

Richie’s chortles were mixing with shallow coughs as he said, “I guess if you were in my shoes, you’d see the irony of Bill coming home from his aunt’s while I’m being shipped off to hers—,”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie!” Eddie shouted. Stan grumbled a comment about lowering the volume while Eddie continued, “You’re in the fucking hospital—it’s not funny.”  Richie let out another cough. “God, have you even seen what he did to your face?”

Richie gave a face of contemplation, raising an eyebrow, before letting out another gravelly cough. “I think I look rugged.” He gave a lopsided grin with a snigger. Then he fell into a coughing fit.

“Christ, Rich,” Eddie mumbled, walking to his side, ignoring the uncomfortable looks from Stan. “Have you been taking deep breaths? You know that if your ribs are broken and if you don’t take big enough breaths, you can get pneumonia?” He ran a hand through his hair, fingers wriggling nervously. “Oh, god, have you checked if blood came up when you coughed? You need to check if blood came up when you coughed. I should call a nurse, because that is a symptom of tuberculosis, too. And what if—,”

“Eds, I’m fine,” Richie mumbled in between shallow coughs. “The doctors checked for that already—pneumonia, not the other one.” He gave him a limp thumbs-up. Eddie’s shoulder’s relaxed. In the white-walled, sterile room, a still, uncomfortable silence fell on the group. Mike gave a relieved sigh from the corner, his eyes watching something outside the window. Ben gave a little sniffle while Stan looked motionless at the floor. Eddie broke the silence in a small, controlled voice.

“You don’t look rugged. You look like your dad beat you up so fucking bad you ended up in the hospital.” Richie looked anywhere but Eddie, his challenging stare chipping away his cheery façade. “You look terrible, and now you’re getting taken away,” his voice cracked. Shaky, he stated, “And I can’t fucking do this,” before turning and walking out of the room, noticeably wiping his eyes before slamming the door behind him.

While Richie stared at the door, he missed Stan rubbing a tear from his cheek with his shoulder. Missed Mike subtly dabbing his nose with a tissue, still staring out the window. Missed Ben’s low, controlled exhale. His furrowed eyebrows watched the door, begging Eddie to come back in. _You know I can’t follow you right now, asshole. Come back._ When a minute passed, Richie sighed and turned back to his other friends.

“So you packed my records?” he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The easiest part of writing these chapters is finding Bowie quotes for chapter titles. His music is the best and i love him.


	5. Chapter Five: I never thought I'd need so many people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'm taking longer than I would like to update. I will try and get better at that.  
> Thank you all for the comments! I can't really believe that people are actually looking forward to my updates-- its all really weird

When Richie was released from the hospital, he stood as close to his friends as possible. Bill had arrived that morning, his newly trimming hair ragged and his face sleepless. He burst into the room, pausing for a moment to absorb the image of the broken boy in front of him. His eyes shifted from Richie to the nurse next to him, who gave a look of surprise. Then, Bill spoke, his voice still the shaky stammers of his youth, “W-w-when I got the phone call from s-Stan I just—I’m s-sorry I came as quickly a-a-as I could.” The nurse looked back at Richie, whose eyes were wide.

Richie then gave a sniff. “Coming quickly? Bill, you know I like you to last as long as possible.”  There was a silent pause before the nurse groaned. Bill’s lips twitched into an exasperated smile.

With the rest of the Losers at his side, Richie walked out of the hospital, his steps as natural as possible. He made sure to give his favorite nurse a wink and a blown kiss before piling into the back of Mike’s pick-up truck and heading to the pharmacy. Mike drove as smoothly as possible, silently scared the bumps might hurt Richie’s ribs. In the bay of the truck, the rest of the losers sat back, watching the many sights of Derry pass by their eyes. The kissing bridge. The arcade. The Aladdin. All the same views and places that their young, childhood-selves explored and conquered. The Standpipe tower still stood, gracefully watching the town with its rusty, decrepit metal. The graffiti was still new and glossy, painted over the old, chipped colors of the past. The roads were still rocky and full of potholes, the townsfolk still selfish and loving. In the stillness of the town and the silence of the passengers, the boys sat and absorbed their surroundings. A small bump made Richie’s breath ragged, but with a pat on his leg by Eddie, Richie allowed himself to make his breaths slow and full. Eddie let his head fall on his shoulder, his eyes still watching the passing trees and birds. Stan whispered to himself in the silence about the birds, saying something about swallows and their migratory patterns. Richie did his best to memorize this useless information, closing his eyes and catching every detail.

When they arrived at the pharmacy, Eddie went in with Richie to get his prescription pain medication. Richie did his best not to knock into anything while inside of the crowded, sterilized building, his lack of glasses a struggle. He held onto the hem of Eddie’s shirt as he led him to the pharmacist, greeting him with a warm, familiar hello. Richie squinted at the Mr. Keene, trying to make the fuzz of his eyes focus.  

“Hello, Edward, enjoying your summer?” He grinned, his horse teeth glistening, yellow and crooked. “We haven’t seen you in here in a few days—I was getting worried.” Eddie gave him a stiff, courteous answer before presenting Richie’s prescription.

Mr. Keene observed the slip, his nose crinkling a little, before he raised his head, his eyes looking past Eddie at Richie. With eyes full of forced concern, he addressed the boy.

“And how are you doing, Richard?” He tilted his head to side, his eyebrows upturned and his lips stretched in a thin, sympathetic smile.

Richie raised an eyebrow. “Peachy,” he responded.

Mr. Keene paused before nodding to himself and turning back to locate the pain medication. Richie nicked two packages of cigarettes behind his back.

When they returned to Mike’s truck, pain medication in hand, the boys piled back into the pickup. From there, the journey was a short, two-minute trip to Richie’s house. Mike parked on the grass, his tires digging into the overgrowth. With a hammer in his heart, Richie stared at the familiar fallen shutters and the front door his father had painted green. He put his feet on the gravel, his shoes crunching on the rocks. “My parents are still in jail, right? They didn’t post bail?”

Ben answered, “They did, but your folks couldn’t pay up. So they’re staying in until they get a sentencing.” Richie let out a small breath of relief before running up the steps like he usually did. When he got to the door, he reached in his pocket for his house keys, but halted.

“Shit, I don’t have my keys.”

Bill interrupted, “It’s unlocked.” Richie eyed them with suspicious glares while they all just nodded. Eddie gave him a light shove toward the door before Richie relented and turned the knob. His normally cramped, couch filled living room had been rearranged, the sofa pushed far against the wall and his father’s sofa moved to another unknown location. In the center of the room were two air mattresses and an array of sleeping bags, pillows, and blankets. There was a small stash of junk food displayed in the middle of the maroon carpeted floor. Richie turned back toward his friends, them giving him little smiles and light pats on his shoulders.

“What, did you think we were going to leave you alone on your last day?” Eddie asked, his smile slightly forced as his hand grasped Richie’s. “Don’t be stupid.” On Eddie’s left, Stan and Ben both nodded in approval at the insult.

And with the sight of his friends and the work they put in to help him, the love they showed him in their concern and actions, Richie felt the weight of his departure fully. He tightened his grip on Eddie’s hand as he felt the familiar presence of his found family standing around him. Before he let what was threatening to breach his eyes flow down his cheeks, he released the boy’s hand, stepping toward the pillows and blankets. After letting a small, shuddering breath escape his lips, he turned towards the others, a grin on his swollen face. Putting on his valley-girl voice, he said, “Oh my God, I like, can’t believe were going to have a sleep over.”

…………..

A few hours had passed and the boys were surrounded by the darkness of late evening, taking a break from the board games to watch a movie. Richie had insisted that they play one more round of Mystery Date, but after Mike got paired with the clown, the boys quickly changed to a different game. Boggle lasted a while, but Ben dominated the group, and soon Richie and Bill were making up words, insisting that they were true and giving them elaborate definitions. It was during one of these times that Ben, in his frustration, accidentally spilled his Surge on Eddie’s hand. The boy quickly began to self-destruct, so they all quickly ran to his rescue, gathering paper towels and soap. After that, they decided to relax and turn on the TV, finding that CaddyShack was playing. Soon, they were absorbed in the film, but paused often to throw pillows at Richie as he quoted it verbatim. He giggled, wincing slightly, but in the moment, no one noticed. And he was happy.

Richie rose to use the restroom, still quoting as he went. Before he returned to his comfortable mattress, he grabbed a glass of water from the tap. The telephone let out a loud, shrill ring, making Richie jump. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he picked up the receiver. “Hello, there. You’ve reached the Tozier residence. We are currently having way more fun than you, but if you insist on interrupting us—,”

“Holy fucking shit I caught you.”

Richie stiffened, before a small laugh bubbled from his chest. “Bev? Since when are you calling me and not your loving boyfriend? He’s in the other room shoving Cheetos in his face, I’ll get him for—,”

“Jesus, Richie shut up for a second. I wanted to talk to you.” He heard her tapping her fingers against the phone. “How are you?”

“Aw, Beverly, that’s so sweet of you.” He put on a mock trans-Atlantic accent and said, “Well, I’m doing mighty fine this evening. And you, my darling? How is the family?”

“I mean it, Rich.” She paused, “How are you? Really?” Richie sniffed, taking a breath. Bev continued, “When do you leave?”

He mumbled, “Tomorrow morning.” He heard her give a whispered curse, letting a silence fall on the two of them. CaddyShack was still blaring in the living room as Richie inhaled to speak before pausing again.

“Richie. Remember, I know exactly what you’re going through. Exactly,” she asserted, “and is sucked ass.” Richie rubbed his eyebrows, squeezing his eyes shut.

He struggled to find the words, the phrases that properly expressed the clench in his chest and the burn of stifled tears in his throat. “What do you want me to say, Bev?” he asked.

She thought for a moment before saying, “Promise me that you’ll call me once you’re settled at your Aunt’s house. Promise me.”

Richie gave a weak laugh and stated, “I promise. Cross my heart. You can’t see me, but I’m doing the whole deal—with my fingers and everything.”

“You better be. Shit—I have to go—my aunt gets pissed when I make phone calls this late.”

“Do you want to talk to Ben before you go?”

“It’s okay. I’ll call him tomorrow. And you’ll call me on Saturday or something, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She sniffed, “You better. Bye, Trashmouth. Love you, you idiot.”

Richie smiled. “Love you, too, Bevy.” With a final click of the receiver, Richie was left once again alone in the kitchen. Not bothering to rejoin his friends, he grabbed one of the cigarettes he stole, searched in a drawer for a lighter, and turned to the back door. Richie sat on the concrete steps, his legs drawn up to his chest, and lit it on the first try. With a struggling breath, he inhaled the smoke, letting it sting his lungs before exhaling low and slow. He took another drag when the screen door openings behind him.

“Don’t let Eddie see you doing that—he’ll get pissed.” Stan gave a small groan as he sat beside Richie. He side eyed the boy before taking the lighter from his hands. He lit it and let his fingers quickly pass through the flame, back and forth, before blowing it out. Richie took a silent puff.

“Hey, Stan,” Richie asked, letting his cigarette dangle in between his pointer and middle finger. The other boy turned to him, brushing his curly hair out of his eyes. He nodded at him to continue. “Does your Bible—the Torah or whatever—does it say anything about this stuff? Why shit like this happens to people?”

Stan furrowed his eyebrows and jerked his head, taken aback. Richie gave him a patient look as Stan’s eyes looked from the right to the left, his mind searching. It was only after a distant owl sounded that Stan mumbled Hebrew under his breath. His eyes darted from Richie to the ground as he said, “The, um… The secret things belong to Adonai our God, but the—er—the things that have been revealed belong to us and our children forever.”  

Richie squinted his glasses-less eyes at the boy, the corners of his mouth twitching. “The secret things belong to God, huh?” He took a drag. “What a fucking cop-out answer.”

He snuffed out his cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to keep this chapter just with the losers. Rich needs some love, and they are doing their best to give it to him.  
> Also, I do not intend to offend with Richie's last line from the Bible. I was raised Christian, and have a lot of respect for the faith, but I remember learning this verse (Deuteronomy 29:29) back in sunday school and feeling like it was a cop-out.  
> also also Beverly was finally here! I don't know why, but I was really looking forward to writing their little exchange.


	6. Chapter Six: It’s time to leave your capsule if you dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live.  
> Again, updating regularly is very difficult. Life is sorta ridiculous at the moment.  
> Finishing up my last year of undergrad with a degree in English involves a lot of writing.  
> Writing about school stuff. Boring writing.  
> That and the combination of finding a school to do my masters at and working full time is making me go insane.  
> Thank you for your patience (if anyone is still reading this) This is the longest update I've done so far, so I hope that makes up for my inconsistency.

Lucas slammed the cardboard box down at the bottom of the stairs before straightening his back with a crack. Behind him Dustin came bounding down, his arms full of Star Wars toys and pillows. “Break time’s over, Lucas,” he said, lightly shoving the boy. “No time for slacking.”

Lucas glared before saying, “Oh, pardon me. It’s not like I just carried Mike’s encyclopedias down two flights of stairs.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one who wanted to impress Mrs. Wheeler with your manliness.” Dustin emptied his arms onto the pull-out bed, letting the toys bounce on the springy mattress. They had successfully rearranged the basement into something resembling a bedroom. The old couch had been converted into a bed, they folded up the Dungeons and Dragons table, and they had, with much reluctance from Mike, disassembled Eleven’s blanket fort in favor of a bookshelf.

Lucas lowered to a squat before raising the box back off the ground with a grunt. He shuffled his way to the new bookshelf before his arms gave out and the box landed on the floor with a loud thump. He shook the stiffness out of his hands. “Why are we even bringing all these down here, anyway? Why aren’t we leaving it all in Mike’s old room?”

“Because mom wants to make sure that Richard has enough space for all of his crap.” The boys turned to see Mike standing by the stairs, a laundry bin full of folded clothes on his right hip. His spoke like the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

Lucas sniffed, his mouth twitching. “I don’t get it—why don’t they put Holly in Nancy’s room? It’s not like Nancy will be living here much longer, with her graduating high school next year.”

Mike widened his eyes and nodded. He quickly put his belongings on the pull-out before raising his hands. With dramatic arm waves, he said, “Right? It would be so much easier if she was in Nancy’s room.”

Dustin pursed his lips and rubbed his nose. “Seems pretty stupid.”

“Totally stupid,” Mike responded with a huff. He let himself fall backwards onto his new bed, releasing a musty smell of filth and weeks-old junk food into the air. Above him, a small little cluster of dust floated down from the ceiling, slowing landing on top of his nose. He groaned.

With a creak from the bed springs, Dustin laid down beside Mike, his hands folded on his stomach. “Mikey, listen, you’ve gotta try and look on the bright side.”

Mike furrowed his eyebrows. “What bright side?”

Dustin shrugged, “I dunno. Your basement is way bigger than your old room.”

“And you have enough space in here to get your own TV for your Atari,” Lucas said, sitting in between the boys. Mike grumbled.

“Yeah, and you have a door to outside in your own room. Now Eleven can sneak in whenever she wants,” Dustin wiggled his eyebrows and elbowed Mike’s side. Mike let out an embarrassed sound and whipped his pillow at Dustin’s face.

Lucas snickered before imitating a dramatic swoon, hands over his heart, and letting out a breathy, “Oh, Eleven.” Mike gave a whiny moan and rolled over, burying his face in the blankets. Both Lucas and Dustin laid themselves on top of Mike, letting out theatrical, giggling teases while Mike swatted them away with embarrassed retorts. A “Mike, I love you” from Dustin earned him a shove while a “Oh, Eleven, kiss me” from Lucas got him a knee to his side. With small winces, the boys continued until a call resounded from the top of the stairs.

“Mike, come up here—Mom is leaving,” Nancy bellowed. She didn’t wait for a response, but slammed the door, making the wooden stairs shudder and dust snow from the ceiling. The boys stood and rushed up the steps.

In the kitchen stood Ted, Nancy, and Karen, Holly held firmly in her arms. She gave her blonde head a quick kiss before placing her on the floor. Holly remained by her mother, grabbing at her shirt sleeve and placing a thumb in her mouth, which Karen promptly removed. Karen’s head eyes rose to meet the boys and she gave them a small, forced smile.

“Boys, thank you so much for helping Mike move downstairs.” Lucas and Dustin responded with quiet “you’re welcomes” while Karen nodded. She took a deep inhale before opening her arms with exaggerated excitement. “Well, I’m off to get your cousin. I should be in Buffalo by 8’clock or so. Nancy, make sure to keep the phones open. I’ll call when I get to the hotel.” Nancy fought an offended expression and gave a quick jerk of her head for a nod. Karen continued, “And Ted, would you make sure the boys vacuum Richard’s room? I want him coming home to a clean space.” Mike shared a sideways glance with Lucas and Dustin, his eyebrows furrowed and his arms crossed.

With a slow, steadying inhale, Karen clapped her hands together and walked to Ted. She gave him a quick hug and pat on the shoulder before turning to Nancy and doing the same. When she swiveled her head to Mike, he stiffened in preparation. Karen grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him into a bruising hug, firm on his arms that she pinned to his side. “Thank you for doing this for you cousin,” she whispered before letting him go, giving a tight-lipped smile, and heading out the door. Mike barely got to react as Ted followed with her suitcase, leaving the boys and Nancy watching from the kitchen.

In the new quiet of the kitchen, Mike watched as his mother’s Volkswagon exited the driveway, leaving them behind. When she returned, what had become their normal, daily lives would be changing. The normal they had created since the insanity of the past two years would be interrupted. Mike sniffed, his fingers twitching in the unknown.

Breaking the silence, Nancy gave a small cough before raising her eyebrows and pointing at the vacuum cleaner. Mike rolled his eyes and groaned.

………

When Richie awoke, with a crook in his shoulder and a foot in his spine, he found himself surrounded by the irreplaceable comfort of his friends. The boys curled together, the air mattresses deflated from the weight of Ben, Bill, and Stan. Sometime in the night, they all found themselves curled in sleeping bags, rolled close together and awkwardly sleeping on the discolored shag carpet. The late night giggles and cigarettes had slowly faded into sleep. The foot belonged to Mike, who was notorious for sleep-kicking. Richie gave a light flick at his socked foot, and Mike immediately kicked once before turning onto his side. Richie held his breath, pain emanating from his ribs and travelling up his sides. With a quiet grunt, he pushed himself to sit. Wiping the sleep from his eyes made him brush his bandage-covered stitches, reminding him that he needed to keep those clean. Resisting the urge to pick at is bandage, Richie stood as gracefully as a newborn deer. He winced and cringed as the pain of fractured ribs and crowded sleep shot through his body. Split lip between teeth, he let out a quite curse under his breath. Then, careful not to disturb his sleeping friends, he tiptoed over legs and bodies to go clean his face.

When Richie entered the kitchen, he stumbled slightly over his packed bags. It was his school bag stuffed full of his clothes, a duffel carrying more laundry and stuff like his Walkman, his mother’s Polaroid camera that he nicked, tooth brush, deodorant, and birth certificate—just the essentials— and a cardboard box full of alphabetized vinyl and cassettes. Richie stared briefly at the pile of his possessions neatly organized on the floor before rubbing his nose and pulling out a wooden stool next to the island.

“You’re up early,” said a voice from behind him. Richie jolted in surprise and slammed his knee into the counter.

“Jesus fuck—shit ow,” streamed from Richie’s clenched teeth. With a gasp, Eddie rushed to his side.

“Shit—sorry I didn’t mean to scare you—oh god, is it your ribs? Do you need some ice? Or some Oxycodone? Here, let me grab your pain meds, I think I left them over—,”

“Eds, hey—relax I’m fine,” Richie said, raising his hands to calm the boy. His eye twitched in a small cringe from the pain, but it quickly faded to a slight ache. Eddie stood still, his shoulders raised high and his arms stiff. Richie looked at him with squinting eyes before sighing and reaching out. He lightly grasped Eddie’s arm, pulling him over to him. “Hey, come on, Eds. You’ve gotta relax.” Richie took both arms and began waving them back and forth. “You need to be like a noodle, my Eddie Spaghetti. That’s it—channel your true, noodle self,” he said.

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie responded, wrinkling his nose. He let Richie wave his arms for a moment longer before retracting his hands and sitting on the stool next to him. “Why are you awake?”

Richie pointed at his cheek. “Gotta change this.” On the counter, neatly placed, were the medications, bandages, and petroleum jelly he’d gotten from the pharmacy.

“Do you even know how to do that?” Eddie raised an eyebrow.

“Sure I do,” Richie said before gripping the edge of the bandage and ripping it off in one swift motion. He immediately recoiled.

Eddie grabbed his face before smacking Richie’s hand. “You idiot—you could have taken out your stitches.” He quickly swiped the medical supplies from Richie and straightened himself on his seat. With practiced hands, Eddie put a small amount of water onto a washcloth. He then leaned close to Richie, gently cleaning the dried, crusty blood from around the wound. As Eddie treated the cut, careful not to apply too much pressure, Richie stared at the boy in front of him. Brown eyes. Long eyelashes. Light, spotty freckles. Richie’s studying gaze made their eyes connect, and for a fleeting moment, Eddie halted his cleaning to stare right back. His eyes flitted between the stitches and the piercing gaze until he forced himself to look into the wound. Eddie took a breath.

“Part of me is really happy you are leaving.” Richie stiffened as Eddie continued. “Part of me is so—,” a breath, “so fucking happy that you are going to stay somewhere safe.” He put down the washcloth and took a cotton swab from the pile of medical supplies. He dipped it in the petroleum jelly before turning back to Richie and lightly painting his stitches. The jelly soothed his irritated gash. “I’m fucking thrilled that you’re going somewhere without your parents and stupid town bullies and a god-damned, fucking evil clown.” His fingers shook as he placed the bandage on Richie’s cheek. Then, Eddie look at the floor, his hands clasped on his lap as he leaned back and away from Richie. Then, in a small, shaking voice, he whispered, “But I wish you could stay.”

Richie instantly closed the distance Eddie created, reaching out and cradling the boy’s face in his hands. “Eddie, look at me.” Eddie’s eyes stayed downcast as his lower lip gave a twitch. Richie’s thumbs rubbed little circles on his cheeks. “Stop talking like you’re never gonna see me again.” Richie gave a small, laughing exhale through his nose. Eddie let a small tear escape and Richie quickly swiped it away. “Eds, look at me.”

The boy mumbled, “Don’t call me ‘Eds’” before connecting his watery eyes to Richie’s. “We’re still going to get into NYU together, right? Still going to explore the city, yeah?” Eddie sniffed and nodded. “And do you really think I won’t call? Or send you letters? Hell, I’ll have to come back to Derry for the Halloween festival—those pumpkins won’t smash themselves.” Eddie gave a snort before tilting his head to the left, resting in Richie’s right hand. Richie leaned in closer, their noses touching. “Can’t get rid of me that easily, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie gave a small nod before closing the distance. It was a long, firm kiss. Richie sighed, closing his eyes and chasing back for another when Eddie ended it too quickly. He did his best to make the kiss not seem like a goodbye. Because it wasn’t. Richie would make sure of it.

When they pulled back, they kept their foreheads together. They breathed in each other’s breath, exhaling out the stifled tears. Richie broke the stillness by saying, “And I could never leave Mrs. Kaspbrak alone for too long—someone has to keep her satisfied.”

Eddie groaned and pushed him. “Beep fucking beep, Trashmouth,” he said, stuffing his face into Richie’s shoulder. Richie sniggered, letting his arms drape over Eddie and placing his hands on his back. Eddie mumbled, “You better write every week.”

“Every day.”

“And call me. And the others.”

“As much as I can.”

Eddie nodded into his neck, bringing his hands up to clasp Richie’s t-shirt. In the stillness of the kitchen, with a room full of sleeping teens across the hall, the boys sat in silence, embracing, letting themselves for a moment forget the oncoming departure. Forget the struggles of long-distance relationships. Forget the tortures of hiding from the world outside that small house. And for a moment they were simply lovers, holding each other.

………

They arrived at the bus station in Portland on time. The boys helped Richie put his minimal possessions into the Greyhound.

Deborah made sure Richie had all his proper paperwork and that his ticket was paid for and correct.

Before he could step onto the bus, Richie grabbed his mom’s Polaroid camera and made Deborah take a picture of them all together. Richie stood in the center, squinting so he could see. Ben was already crying, his face blotchy and red. Bill’s stutter was terrible, Stan’s lip was trembling, and Mike kept making forced, toothy smiles. Eddie clutched at Richie’s clothes, his arms. At anything he could grab.

The photo was pretty terrible.

Richie took it and placed it in his back pocket.

He gave each one a hug—even Deborah. She gasped, mumbled something about how this was inappropriate, and then hugged him back.

At the call of the bus driver, Richie stepped onto the vehicle, turning back only once to flip off his friends and call them all losers.

He sat down, and the bus left for Buffalo.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last of the losers for a little bit. now, both the separate scenes, in Indiana and in Maine, are going to start merging together.  
> Also I've never really written romance before??? I usually write either very childish writing (i want to write kids books for a living) or very very dark writing. But romance? Never done that before.  
> i hope that scene read alright.


	7. Chapter Seven: All I see is all I know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return. How is everyone doing?  
> update on me- i got some grades back for my 8 week courses and guess who still has her 4.0 heyoooooo  
> its me (validate me, i put my self worth in my grades)  
> Also I have no idea if you guys want this or not, but I’m gonna include a list in the notes of all the songs the chapter titles are coming from. They’re all Bowie lyrics.  
> Anyway, thank you all for the amazing comments!

Karen arrived at the hotel in Buffalo at 7:22 in the evening exactly. With a long, tired sigh, she parked the car and turned off the engine. It had been possibly the longest 10 hours of her life. Karen had greatly underestimated the amount of time and energy it would take to drive such a distance, and her back and neck ached. She attempted to rub out the stiffness, rolling her neck. Slouching in her seat, she allowed her eyes to drift shut and for her arms to relax. Then, with a quick slap on her legs, she opened the car door, grabbed her overnight bag from the trunk, and checked into the hotel.

Karen asked the bored check-in girl if there was a phone she could use. The girl smacked her gum twice before gesturing to a pay phone with a short wave of her pointer finger. Karen gave a stiff-lipped “Thank you,” before walking to the phone. She put in 50 cents for a 10 minute call and dialed home. It rang three times before someone picked up the receiver.

“Wheeler residence, this is Nancy speaking,” spoke the voice. Karen’s fingers played with the metal cord.

“Nancy? Its mom.”

Karen heard a small thump from the other line. A muffled sound of voices came, and then a quick and loud, “Everyone shut up,” before the line became clear again. Karen heard one single knock against the phone before Nancy’s voice sounded.

“Sorry, Will just got here and the boys have been running around being stupid,” she said, the latter part of the sentence once again raising in volume. Karen heard the distant voice of Mike yelling back. Nancy muffled the phone, this time less successfully. Karen clearly heard her scream, “Shut up, mom is on the phone,” and then return to her phone voice, saying, “How was the drive?”

Karen sighed a little as she spoke, “Long. I just checked into the hotel.”

“But you made time—you told me 8 o’clock.” Karen could picture the say Nancy was sitting, her arm resting on the table and her fingers drumming lightly. Karen fiddled with the cord.

“Did the boys vacuum Richard’s room? And wash the sheets?”

Nancy responded, “Yeah, and I made him clean the rest of the house too.” Karen was going to thank her when another call from Mike came, and Nancy didn’t bother covering the receiver before bellowing, “I did so help you! I swept the kitchen and made dinner—that’s not nothing.” Karen held the payphone an inch away from her ear as Nancy continued to yell at her brother. When the shouting lessened, Karen took her chance to end the call.

“Nancy, I need to go—I have to bring my bags up to the room.”

“Oh—okay mom.”

“Alright? I’ll call you again when I have Richard. His bus is supposed to arrive around 9.”

Nancy gave a brief goodbye, and Karen hung up the receiver. With shoulders slumped and her eyes closed, she gave a heavy exhale. She let her head rest on the cool of the payphone before a new customer came into the hotel, asking for a room. Karen lifted her head, brushed a hair back into place, and grabbed her bag, taking the elevator to the second floor.   

When Karen entered the hotel room, she was greeted by a small suite with two twin beds, both with pristine, white blankets tucked tightly into the mattress. Karen dropped her bag before sitting on the bed, checking the spring slightly before falling back with a loud sigh. It was then, once again by herself, that the constant motion of the day caught up to her. It was in the stillness of her quiet hotel room that Karen realized how heavy her eyelids were and how comfortable a freshly made bed was. “Just a quick nap,” she whispered, pushing herself further up the mattress, her head finding a plush, feather pillow. Karen’s exhausted mind reasoned with her, convincing the tired woman that she had time for a quick rest and then a bite to eat before her nephew arrived. And with a comfortable, drained sigh, Karen closed her eyes.

………

Richie tugged his head phones off, the batteries in his Walkman finally dying. He rolled stiff shoulders and twitched bored fingers. With a tic of his lip and a rub of his nose, he looked around him at the other passengers. Few were the same people who boarded the bus with him in Portland, most having departed at the stop in Boston and New York City. Behind him sat an older woman who was knitting with quick, skilled hands. She had been sitting in the same spot the whole ride, focused on her project. Richie chewed on his lower lip as he studied the motion of her fingers. Her knuckles were rounded and her skin leathery as she shifted her hands rapidly, knitting and purling. Richie’s fingers started to copy the motions, his pointer outstretched like it was taught with green yarn. “What you making,” he asked, resting his chin on the back of the seat. Its chipping plastic dug a little into his skin.

The rhythm didn’t falter as she answered, “Socks.”

Richie eyed the yarn. “Who are you going to torture with itchy-ass yarn socks?”

The woman raised an eyebrow, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” She sniffed. “Whys a kid like you been on a bus since Portland?” Her wrinkled eyes gazed at him from behind large spectacles.

Richie responded with a curt, “Well, I don’t think that’s any of your business.” He gave her a crooked smile. Her lips stayed pursed.

“How did you get that shiner?”

“You should see the other guy,” Richie answered, lifting his chin from the seat. He picked at his fingers.

The woman stopped knitting for a moment to raise her head, her eyes tracing the bruises and the stitches. Richie saw sympathy pass on her face, and he clenched his hands.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Richie turned around on his seat to look right at her. He said, “I don’t know, shouldn’t you be in a nursing home? Or dead?”

Her mouth was open in shock. Richie shook his head. “Hey, it was just a joke. Don’t hit me with your oxygen tank or something.” With a loud sniff and pinched lips, the woman rose from her seat to leave. “Wait, is the interview over?” he asked, raising his arms as if to grab the woman as she shimmied out of the seat, yarn and needles in hand, and walked to an open seat in the front of the bus. Richie let out a laugh through his nose before turning back in his seat. He saw the old woman give him one long, disapproving glare before straightening and going back to her knitting. Richie let his head hit the window, and he watched the trees go by as best as his poor eyes would let him. He had seen a sign for Buffalo earlier. He would be there soon. In mere minutes.

Shifting, Richie reached back and grabbed the photo in his back pocket. It was now wrinkled on the edges, but it still showed the image of his friends with their arms around him. He straightened out a fold on the upper right corner. He studied their faces—the curls on Stan’s head, the shadows on Ben’s face, the tears on Eddie’s cheeks. With a small sigh, he eyed the old woman before muttering to himself. “Beep beep, you fucking Trashmouth.”

………

When the bus arrived, Richie was quick to get off and stretch his legs. He landed on the asphalt with solid feet and took a dramatic inhale and exhale. “Hey, it doesn’t smell like cows or anything in Buffalo,” he said to no one in particular. With his backpack on one shoulder, his duffel on the other, and his box of records in his hands, he made his way inside the station. Riche was welcomed to a few late-night people, some taking naps, some reading books. A few folks greeted the exiting passengers, arms wide with anticipation of hugs. Richie saw the old woman crouch down to hug a small girl. The woman next to the girl watched with a content smile as the little girl gave the old woman a kiss on her cheek. The old woman grinned.

Arms straining and ribs aching, Richie gently placed his box on a seat and removed his bags, putting them down on top of the box. He searched the room, looking for a face he should remember. He remembered his aunt’s brown eyes. Her curly hair. Her kind eyes. He saw nothing.

Richie pinched his brows and sniffed. With a quick brush of his nose and a squint of his eyes, he did his best to make out some distant faces, but only saw unfamiliar, fuzzy features. Worry crept its way under Richie’s skin, and he felt his fingers twitch and his hearing heighten. With a small, short breath, Richie sat down next to his belongings. As the old woman and her relatives left the building, her hands clasped with the little girl’s, Richie scratched at his jeans, picking at the sporadic holes that Eddie always told him to patch. He took a deep inhale before leaning back on the seat, trying to look relaxed. With stiff shoulders and throbbing ribs, Richie sighed, looked around once more, and then raised his sleeve and checked his watch.

It read 9:23.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title songs include:  
> 1- Life on Mars  
> 2- Oh, You Pretty Things  
> 3- Moonage Daydream  
> 4- Changes  
> 5- Five Years  
> 6- Space Oddity  
> 7- Sons of the Silent Age  
> I highly recommend listening to all of them, because they are all brilliant.  
> I know this whole fic is surrounded by Bowie music, but I really think that Richie is perfectly personified by the Ramones first album. Super up tempo songs with darker messages. I've been working on expanding my vinyl collection, and I just got that album, so i've been listening to it a whole lot. They are even super short, so they fit Richie’s short attention span as well. Good stuff.  
> Also the song Cough Syrup by Young the Giant :)  
> (also poor rich i torture you so)


	8. Chapter Eight: Pale blinds drawn all day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for your patience! school keeps beating me up and keeping me from enjoying life.  
> here is a little update that I don't really like, but decided to keep.  
> hope you enjoy and thank you for all the comments!

It was a thump that woke her. The wall shook for a moment as the neighboring hotel room became alive with movement. Karen’s heavy eyes struggled to lift as muffled words made their way into her room. The mumbles quickly hushed with what sounded like a short scold, and soon the rhythms of life settled. Karen stretched her back, letting out a crack, and sat up. Scratching her eye, she let out a small, contained, polite yawn, covering her mouth with her hand. Her stomach let out a loud gurgle, and she scrunched her face. Calmly, she wondered where the nearest fast-food restaurant was, since that was probably all she could get before going to pick up Richard.

Richard.

Gasping, Karen darted to the bedside table, snatching the alarm clock with two hands.

It read 1:13 AM.

“Shit,” Karen yelled. She grabbed her purse, shoved her shoes on, and only stopped to find her room keys before running out the door. Tripping slightly down steps, Karen ran through the dimly lit lobby, past the girl who smacked her gum and gave a lackluster call not to run in the lobby. Karen unlocked her Volkswagen, throwing her purse to the passenger seat. “Shit, shit, shit,” she mumbled, turning on the ignition with a quick twist of her wrist. Then, she sped out of the parking lot and onto the road, following the road signs to the bus station, cursing under her breath with every turn. She sped through yellow lights, ignoring honks from passing cars, until she spotted the entrance for the station. Karen slammed on her breaks, made a sharp right turn into the parking lot, and parked, her back end halfway into the next spot.

Grasping in purse, she ran inside the building, her hair misplaced and her face red. She scanned the room, seeing sleep-deprived patrons sitting in wait for a night bus. It was in the corner by a window that she spotted him. She recognized the dark, curly hair that reminded her so much of her father. With quick quiet steps, she made her way to the corner and crouched down beside her nephew. He was sitting with his head on top of is box, his two bags placed on his lap. Karen watched him take a deep breath, his back raising and falling. Furrowing her brows, she silently looked around for his other boxes before scooting closer to him and placing a gentle hand on his back. She shook him with slow back and forth movements and whispered, “Richard, wake up,” over and over. With a twitch of his brow and a slight sniff, he raised his head, peaking one eye open to look at her.

“Hey, Auntie Karen,” he said, his voice gravelly. He took his head off of the box, curving his spine and cracking his back. He gave a dramatic yawn, before letting the air out of his lungs in a single huff. Karen saw the face revealed in front of her smiling and covered in bruises. The bandage on his cheek was coming up on the edges and his lip was severely split. Richard gave a small twist of his shoulder and winced at the movement.

“Oh Richard,” she said before taking him into her arms. She forced herself not to squeeze his broken body, awkwardly brushing his hair and leaning over his bags. “I’m so sorry—I fell asleep the second I got to the hotel.”

Richard patted her back in rhythmic beats. “Well, sleep is important.”

Karen withdrew from the hug, her hands resting on his shoulders. She brushed some curly hair from Richard’s forehead, taking note of the stiff shoulders and short breath that resulted from the touch. She rubbed his shoulders with soft strokes before standing. “Come on, let’s get to the hotel.” She picked up the duffle on his lap. “We need to grab the rest of your stuff.”

Richard stood, rolling his shoulders before swinging his backpack on and lifting the cardboard box. “This is it,” he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Karen pinched her brow, her lips pursed. She did her best not to let her horror show on her face. Richard raised an eyebrow. “What, it’s not like I could take my bed with me.” He walked past Karen as she clutched her purse. “Lead the way, Auntie Karen—I can’t see shit without my glasses.”

Karen did her best not to flinch at the curse. _Don’t start scolding him now, Karen. Not after the mercy he just gave you._ She followed after him with hurried steps, taking him to the car.

……

Richie found the morning cozied up in warm sheets. He dreaded having to leave the bed, rarely feeling the comfort of tight, freshly made bed sheets practically hugging him. He twitched his lip and stuffed his face into the feather pillow, making a silent promise that he would make his bed more often. He knew it was a weak promise.

Before he and Karen headed out for the long drive to Hawkins, Karen had to make a phone call. Richie sat on the floor beside her, pretending not to eavesdrop on her conversation with Ted. “Yes, he’s fine,” she said more than once, her voice soft and reassuring. She kept glancing down at him, her fingers fiddling with the cord, pausing only when she spoke hushed whispers. “He’s got bruises all over his face, Ted—how do you think he looks?” Richie hunched his shoulders before rubbing his nose and standing. With casual steps, he approached the woman at the front desk. She stood, leaning on the counter with her chin in her hand. She acknowledged Richie with an eye roll.

“You need something, bar fight?” the girl asked, tapping her fingers.

“Can I bum a cig?” Richie responded. The girl gave him a side eye before shrugging and reaching into her back pocket and offering one of her Kools. Richie lit it there in the lobby, taking one long drag before letting out the smoke, winking at the woman, and turning around on one foot. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, ignored the pain that shot through him, and stood on the sidewalk. With a hand in his back pocket, fiddling with the photo of his friends, Richie took in a single breath of fresh air before returning his cigarette to his mouth. Eddie would hate to know that Richie blew through a whole pack of cigarettes on the bus ride to Buffalo. Richie sighed, scratching the back of his head as the cig hung from his lips. He would probably rant about yellow teeth and lung cancer, his volume raising when he got to talking about iron lungs or something. Richie gave a shallow laugh.

“Richard?” came the voice of his aunt. She stood stiff, her eyes focused on the cigarette dangling in Richie’s pointer and middle finger. He looked her in the eye as he brought it back up to his mouth and took a final short puff.

“Richie,” he said. Karen raised her eyebrows. “Call me Richie. The only people that call me Richard are like—,” he dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his sneaker, “—principles or social workers or something.” Richie eyed his aunt, watching her shift back and forth. He gave a small sniff.

“Phone call done?” Karen nodded. Richie gave a single, loud clap. “Alright, let’s do this.” He made his way to the Volkswagen and opened the driver’s side door with a dramatic, gentlemanly gesture. Karen gave a small thank you before sliding into her seat. Richie tapped the hood as he walked around to the passenger side.

Once seated, Richie immediately started playing with the radio. Karen placed both hands on the steering wheel, clenching and unclenching on the leather. “Richie,” she said. “I would like—I want,” she fumbled before letting out a small sigh. She sat straight, posture confident as she said, “I want you to stop smoking.”

Richie raised an eyebrow, lips turning in a smirk. With a breath he said, “Well, we all want things, don’t we.”

Karen pursed her lips and exited the parking lot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title song- Sound and vision  
> Apparently in Indiana, the legal age for purchasing cigarettes was 16 until 1987 when it was bumped up to 18. (take that with a grain of salt-- Wikipedia is my source.) I don't want to gloss over how unhealthy and terrible smoking is for you body, but it feels appropriate to me for Richie's character for him to smoke a decent amount. It was so common back then-- I mean in Stranger Things Hopper and Joyce are smoking in almost every scene.  
> Anyway what did you think of Richie's sass? What are your plans for Easter (if any)? how are your lives?  
> Thank you so much for reading!


	9. Chapter Nine: Looking sweet though he dresses like a queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this??? She's posting less than a week after the last update?? this is unheard of! Preposterous!  
> I paced myself better with homework last week, so I actually had time to write! So here's a little chapter for you guys.  
> Its sort of filler, but i liked writing it. I'm trying to get better at writing Richie's dialog, so I used this chapter as a sort of practice chapter. Anyway, enjoy!

“Okay so right here—this guy on the left. That’s my main man Stan,” Richie said, waving his photo in front of Karen’s face. They had finally stopped for a late lunch in Ohio after driving far too long in between meals. The pulled over at a small diner a few towns outside of Cleveland, and both Richie and Karen were grateful for the chance to stretch their legs and look at something other than corn fields for a moment. Richie shoved a handful of fries in his mouth and continued, “He’s a total science nerd and is gonna marry a fucking bird or something.” Karen took a small sip of burnt coffee, watching the enthusiasm in Richie’s crinkled eyes and upturned lips. “The tall, model lookin’ one is Bill. He’s the smartest stutterer across the seven seas.  The chunk-master Ben is as soft and cuddly as he looks.” Karen let a breathy laugh escape her lips. Richie looked up from the photo, his cheeks full of fries, before saying, “The one who is crying way too much is Eds. Jesus, he looks so shitty in this picture but he is the single cutest person alive.” Richie paused for a second tilting his head to the side as he studied the image. “He’d fucking slug me for calling him that,” he said with a smile. Karen decided not to interrupt with a comment about the curses, since Richie appeared to be on a roll. Richie put on a commentator voice as he said, “Now, last but certainly not least is Mr. tall-dark-and-handsome, Mike Hanlon. He is way too cool to hang out with us losers. Don’t know how we managed to knock him down the social ladder.”

Richie handed the photo over to Karen who took it with gentle fingers, folding out a few creases. The image showed the group of boys squished together, their faces with grimaced, forced smiles and their eyes full of tears. Two of the boys looked like they weren’t even trying to hold back, their faces damp and blotchy. Riche gave a loud gasp before digging through his duffel. “I have more pictures in here,” he said as he pulled out his medications that he had to take with food. They were the only reason he brought in his duffel, but it ended up becoming an introduction of some of Richie’s prized possessions. He had pulled out the Polaroid camera with a flourish, saying that it belonged to his mother. Karen commented on how nice it was of her sister to give it to him, and he gave a sarcastic remark about how kind people are when they don’t know someone is taking their things. Karen didn’t even have time to comment before Richie took the photo of his friends together out of his back pocket.

“Wait-wait-wait, that one doesn’t have Bev in it,” he said, rummaging around the laundry in his bag. He exclaimed a loud, “There you are, you little fucker,” and whipped out a small envelope. Richie thumbed his way through the envelope while Karen hushed him, her eyes darting around the diner. An older man with three small kids looked at the two of them, appalled.

“Right here,” Richie said, ignoring Karen’s pleas for him to lower his voice. He gave her a photo of him on a couch with a girl in his arms. She had short, red hair with curls that rivaled Richie’s own. “That little lady is the amazing, talented, and beautiful Beverly Marsh. Portland resident badass.” He found another photo and handed it to Karen. In it, he and Beverly are both wearing boas and draping themselves against a wall, sunglasses on and cigarettes in hand. Again, Richie had his arm around her shoulder. Karen raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, in that one we raided the drama club’s costumes.” He leaned on the table so he could see the photo in her hands. “We look pretty slick, don’t we?”

Karen gave him a little nod, a small smile on her lips. “So Beverly couldn’t see you off with the others?”

“Nah, she couldn’t use another sick day at school. Her aunt has been getting tougher on her since she got detention for ditching and coming to see us after New Year’s.” Karen furrowed her brow and slid the photo back to Richie. He gave it one more look before putting it back in his envelope. Karen watched as he carefully tucked it in, sealing the envelope back up.

“We’ll have to try and have her visit,” Karen said. She did her best to read the smile on his face to figure out just how close the girl was to her nephew. If the shine in his eyes was an indication of excitement, then Karen’s inkling was leaning toward correct.

“We need to have the whole gang over—we can have a giant ass camp fire and tip some cows or shit,” Richie started bouncing in his seat.

“Cows? Richie—we live in the suburbs.”

Groaning, he flapped his hands, “What is this— and here I thought you had a fucking soy bean farm with a bunch of animals.” He gave a look of mock sadness while Karen shushed him once more, her eyes darting back to the old man who looked about ready to complain to the staff. Karen mouthed an apology before turning back to Richie. She picked at her salad for a moment before rummaging in her own bag, pulling out her wallet.

Placing two school photos in front of Richie, Karen said, “Here is Nancy now.” Nancy sat smiling, her teeth white and her hair perfectly braided. Richie squinted before snatching the picture and bringing it closer to his face.

“Ah, good ol’ Nance,” Richie nodded before giving the photo back.

“And here is Mike. You remember little Mike, right?” She gave him his school photo. Mike had made such a stink when he got the photo back, thinking it made him look like a frog. Karen thought he looked smart in his tan sweater vest and blue jacket. Richie let out a small laugh.

“Look at little Jiminy Cricket.” Karen frowned. “Where is your top hat, little guy?” Karen took back the photo, sliding it back into her wallet.

While Richie resumed shoving fries into his mouth, Karen shifted in her seat. “Richie,” she said, sitting straight and placing her hands in her lap. “Before we get home, I want to discuss some house rules.”

Richie swallowed his fries, and leaned forward, placing his hands under his chin and a smile on his face. “Oh, please, continue,” he responded. Karen gave a small sigh.

“So, the basic house rules—go to school, do your homework, no girls in your room,” he raised an eyebrow, “we have a sit-down dinner every night and I expect you to be there unless told otherwise.” Richie pursed his lips and nodded.

“Seems reasonable,” he said, pushing a fry back and forth. Karen nodded.

“And I would really appreciate it if you cut back on the swearing—Ted doesn’t like hearing language like that in the house.”

Richie sat up straight and saluted, “Yes, drill sergeant.” Karen stared at him, giving her best I-am-the-adult-so-you-need-to-listen face. She raised her eyebrows, kept her eyes focused on him. Richie returned the challenging stare for a moment before curling his shoulders and leaning forward.

“Relax, Auntie. I can reign in the language and be home for dinner on time.” He picked up another fry. “When it comes to food, I’ll always be there.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile. Richie ate the fry and pushed his empty plate to the side while Karen took a sip of her coffee.

“And with the girls in my room, you really don’t have to worry about that,” Richie said.

Before Karen could answer, the waiter brought over their check. Karen asked him if he accepted credit cards and slipped her card out of her wallet. Once the bill was paid and their stomachs full, they slumped back into the car and continued the tiring journey to Hawkins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song title- All the young dudes  
> I debated whether or not to make Richie's last comment into a masturbation joke, (I was gonna have him say, "you don't have to worry about that-- I'm in a fully committed relationship with my right hand") but decided to leave it as a hint to his sexuality. Next chapter, they will finally arrive in Hawkins. How do you think Mike will react to Richie's interesting personality? Or Nancy?  
> Thanks so much for reading and sticking with y inconsistent schedule!


	10. Chapter Ten: The multitude of faces, honest, rich and clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me a lot of trouble, but I guess this is as good as it'll get.   
> also hello welcome back to inconsistent updating schedule.

Mike slouched on the couch, absently watching the television his father had put on before instantly falling asleep. His stomach raised and lowered as low, snoring inhales and exhales left body. Nancy sat up in her bedroom, doing whatever she did up there, and Mike was left to watch Holly. The girl sat near the window, switching between brushing her doll’s hair and staring out into the dark.

It was late and their mother would be home soon.

Mike shifted, looking at his digital watch. 8:04 PM. They could pull up any minute. Mike rubbed his palms on his jeans before standing to get a glass of water from the kitchen. Once away from the television, he was surrounded by silence. Leaning against the fridge, he closed his eyes, straining his ears to hear Holly’s childish mumbles over his father’s snores. With a sigh, he drummed his fingers on the cool of the fridge before speaking. “Eleven—sorry I left my walkie-talkie in the base—,” he paused, “—in my new room.” Mike scratched his eye. “Mom is coming home with my cousin today. Nancy said that mom said that he couldn’t drive ‘cause his glasses got smashed or something, so Mom is probably going to be pissy when she gets home.” He walked over to the cabinet, grabbed a glass and filled it with tap water. “That or dead on her feet.” He took a sip and placed the glass on the counter. “It’s gonna be weird having someone other than you living in the house.” Mike poured his leftover water down the drain when he heard Holly drop her doll. Mike left the kitchen to see Holly standing at the window, both hands on the glass.

“She’s here—I’ll try to sneak and see you tomorrow, okay?” he said, looking around the room like he was waiting for Eleven to walk out of the closet. Mike heard pounding as Nancy rushed down the stairs before picking up Holly and shoving Ted awake. Ted gave one final snort before sniffing and adjusting his glasses. Pushing off the chair, he stood in between Nancy and Mike, hands on their shoulders like an uncomfortable family photo. Nancy adjusted Holly on her hip when the girl squirmed and mumbled about getting down. They heard the car door slam, and both Mike and Nancy tensed. Ted’s hold on their shoulders tightened. With a click and a turn of the doorknob, the front door opened.

Karen walked in carrying a duffel bag and with a backpack swung over her left shoulder. “Hey everyone,” she said, bags under her eyes and her usually pristine hair tossed in a high ponytail. She turned back to outside before saying, “Richie—do you need help with that.”

“Relax, Auntie. I’m not some invalid,” came the voice. It was loud and laughing. Mike and Nancy shared a look.

Karen’s face had a tired smile as Richard walked into the house. Mike’s first thought was _Jesus, he’s tall_ before noticing the blotchy bruises on his face. He was carrying a cardboard box and shifted it in his arms as he stood in front of the group. He arched his eyebrows. “Aw you all came out to meet me?” He adjusted the box, “Well gee willikers, you guys are making me blush.” Mike furrowed his brow.

Karen ignored Richard’s comment to say, “Everyone, this is Richie. Richie, here’s Nancy, Holly, Mike, and your uncle Ted.” Ted left the kid’s side to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Mike noticed Richie’s eye twitch.

“It’s good to see you again, Richard.”

 Richie looked him up and down before pursing his lips. With a hint of sarcasm he said, “Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Uncle Teddy.”

Ted responded, “Here, let me take this up to your room—Mike.” Mike slouched. “Take these bags upstairs to Richard’s room. Nancy can help get the rest from the car.” Rolling his eyes, Mike snatched this box from Richie’s hands, ignoring Richie’s wide eyes and smirk at Mike’s poor attitude. Nancy put Holly on the ground, but the girl remained by her leg, sucking on a lock of hair. While Mike got the two bags from Karen so he could make it in one trip, Richie stretched his back, putting his arms up above his head.

Karen whispered to Nancy, “There are no other bags.”

Nancy whispered back, “That’s it?” Karen nodded. Mike swung the bags over his shoulder. Mike turned to see Richie crouched to the ground. He was tilting his head, looking at Holly. “Now, you must be little Holly wolly, eh?” The girl hid her face behind Nancy’s leg. He pursed his lips, “Oh I see, I see. Is it the bruises?” He pointed at his face. Mike saw his mother and father stiffen from the corner of his eye. “You wanna know how I got them?” The girl peaked from the fabric on Nancy’s leg. Richie nodded, “It was Oscar the Grouch.”

Holly furrowed her light eyebrows. “Oscar?” she said.

“Yup. Oscar. I accidentally knocked over his trashcan and he was not very happy about it.” Richie rocked back and forth on his heels.

She let go of Nancy’s pants, playing with her hair. “You’ve been to Sesame Street?”

“Oh yeah, I go there all the time—me and Big Bird—we go way back.” He gave her a crooked smile that Holly returned.

“Can I go?”

“Well, I think you’d have to ask Auntie Karen about that.”

Holly trotted up to Karen, pulling on her shirt. “Mommy, can I go? Can I go to Sesame Street?”

Karen chuckled and brushed the girl’s bangs to the side. “Not tonight, honey. It’s almost bed time.” Holly pouted as Richie stood up straight with a wince. He rolled his shoulders before turning to Mike.

“Lead the way, Jiminy Cricket.” Mike crinkled his face. Nancy gave a small snort and Mike whipped his head to give her a glare before rushing up the stairs. Mike got the top of the steps, turning on one foot to look back at Richie. He was halfway up, leaning on the railing for a moment.

“Hurry up,” Mike said.

Richie looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “Excuse me, how many bruised ribs do you have?” Mike stood stiff. “That’s what I thought.” Richie took a breath before standing straight and making the rest of the flight up the stairs. When they made it to Mike’s old bedroom, Mike put his box on the desk and casually threw Richie’s bags onto the ground. Richie came in behind him, hands in his pockets. He squinted at the room, looking at the newly blank walls and vacuumed floors. Mike stood back as Richie walked past him to the bed. He sat down, tested the bounce a little, and then flopped back onto the mattress. He immediately pulled the blankets undone from their neatly tucked corners and rolled the comforters up around him. He gave a loud sigh before saying, “This is so fucking cozy.”

Mike stood silent, looking around and shifting from foot to foot. Richie crawled up to the pillow before stuffing his face in it. “Oh shit this is so soft—is this feathers? Its feathers, right?” Mike shrugged. “I bet it is full of like, fucking goose feathers or something.” He shoved his face back in the pillow. Mike looked to the open door, wondering if escape was alright. He edged toward the door.

“Word for the wise, don’t ever forget to ice your ribs on a 10 hour long car ride. Everything will hurt.”

Mike mumbled, “You’re the wise?” under his breath. Richie took the blanket off his face, a slight smile on his face.

“Oof, got me good there, Mr. Cricket.” Mike frowned.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

Richie raised an eyebrow, “Because you look like a fucking bug.” Mike clenched his hands. “Hey, look at this,” Richie paused, rolling over on the bed a few times. He stopped, peeking out from behind the blanket. “I’m a burrito,” he said, giggling. Mike stared at him for a moment before huffing and turning out of the room. He heard a call from his bedroom, but he ignored it, rushing down the steps and rounding the corner.

In the kitchen, Karen stood, nursing a glass of wine. She asked, “Is Richie all settled?” Mike stared at her for a second, looking at her behind furrowed eyebrows and a scowl. He grunted and stomped away from her, down to the basement. He grabbed his walkie-talkie, slumped down onto his bed, and turning the walkie-talkie on to channel 12.

“El—my cousin just got here and he’s so fucking annoying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song title—God knows I’m good
> 
> What did you think? Do you like Mike talking to El? What about Richie's burrito? Do you think this chapter is as weak as I think it is? Let me know!


	11. Chapter Eleven: The hangman plays the mandolin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience with the updating. I have two more courses to take and then I have my BA! I'm almost done, and its crunch time right now. Taking the nontraditional route and doing school online definitely has its perks, but it is still as demanding as normal, on-campus schooling (I've done both)  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! I am slowly starting to get these character situated before we start going on to other parts of the story. it will be a little bit, so bear with me. 
> 
> Also, totally random side note-- I watched Love, Simon this week, and I am still not over it. I read Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda like 3 years ago, and was super stoked when I heard they were making a movie off of it. And that movie. Killed me. I was crying for like an hour after watching it. Everyone should watch it, but especially little queer kids.  
> it was an important movie  
> anyway, side note over- enjoy!

When Mike ran away from Richie, he gave one feeble call before sinking into the mattress, letting out a long exhale. He laid straight, rolled up in blankets and bed sheets. With one quick breath, Richie sat up, turning to his bags to unpack. On the bedside table he placed his Polaroid and photos, as well as his toothbrush that he had neglected to use since leaving Maine. He dumped the rest of the contents on the floor, watching is old t shirts and jeans flooded out of the bag. Richie bent down to pick up his other bag, wincing as he felt a pinch in his ribs. The shirts in the other bag joined the others, and soon the floor resembled the unkempt carpet of his old bedroom. Richie raised his head, squinting his eyes. The walls were blank except for a single poster. It appeared to be image of Star Wars. Richie could just make out the picture of Luke’s shining light saber held above his head with Leia draped around his waist. Richie tilted his head at the picture. “Who left this display of incest up in my room,” he said to no one.

Richie rubbed his nose lightly, rocking back and forth on his heels. There were quiet murmurs hovering in the house. It made Richie twitch. He studied the room, seeing the light blue walls and watching the blurred curtains sway with a small breeze. He shuffled over to the window, leaning on the glass. It was only slightly open, letting in a gentle rhythm of cool wind from the outside. The decline of the roof outside was not too steep. Good enough for steady, solid footing. Richie nodded. He could get out that way if he needed to.

With slow steps, Richie made his way down the steps, hanging on the railing. He walked on the carpeted stairs with care, feeling the plush carpet on his feet. It was soft and slippery. The railing was smooth, free of chips and sticky residue. Richie traced the grain of the wood with a finger. Back at his house, the railings always felt tacky, like something sugary had been spilled and evaporated on the wood. Beer probably. Sometimes wine. Richie gripped tighter on the railing.

Once at the bottom, he patted Holly’s head, passing her quickly to reach the kitchen. The little girl followed his heel, trotting loudly after him. In the kitchen, Karen was seated at the counter, a glass of wine next to her and what looked like a quick microwave meal. She picked at the meal with her fork, clearly too tired to eat but doing her best to get some nutrients in. Richie eyed the glass. It had been a while since he’d actually seen wine in a fancy glass and not just in a bottle. He picked at the hem of his shirt.

“Hey Auntie,” he said. She turned her head to him, her under eyes a deep shade of purple.

“You getting settled, Richie?” she asked, a drowsy smile turning the corners of her lips. Richie shifted his weight between his feet.

“Doing my best. Where did Mikey go? I think one of his posters is up in my room.” Karen rested her chin in her hand before lightly grasping her glass and taking a small sip. She placed it back on the counter, still an inch of wine in her glass. He watched it spin in the glass, the liquid settling slowly.

“He’s in his bedroom downstairs,” she answered. “You should sleep. We have to go to the eye doctor early tomorrow morning.” Riche pursed his lips and nodded. She took a bite of her microwaved rice. “Also, Holly—its way past your bedtime.” Holly hid behind Richie’s leg, grasping the seams of his jeans and twisting them between her fingers. Karen raised from her seat and picked up the girl, who immediately started to pout and squirm. Richie observed as Karen brushed her bangs and soothed her with motherly affection. She brought the girl up stairs, still quieting her objections with soft, sleepy words.

Richie opened a few closets in his search for the basement. They were all organized and clean, everything evenly placed and not overly crowded. Once he found the basement door, he slowly walked down the steps, making the old wood creak with his weight. He found a large room full of folded chairs and old sofas, with a pull out bed in the center. The walls were covered in posters like the one in Richie’s room, him noticing the outline of the Ghostbuster’s logo on one of the walls. Mike was laying on the mattress with what looked like a walkie talkie on his stomach. The boy gave a grunt when he saw Richie. “What are you doing—this is MY room.” Mike sat up, adjusting his pillow.

Richie gestured to the device. “Who you talking to?”

Mike shot back, “None of your business.”

Richie raised an eyebrow. “Ohoo, you got a nerd girlfriend?” He saw red paint Mike’s face.

“I said it’s none of your business.”

“Yeah yeah, well keep your little conversations PG—I don’t need to hear horny middle school phone sex.”

“Shut up!” Mike yelled, raising to his knees. He visibly shook, his hands clenched at his sides. Richie gave a short snicker.

“Hey—did you leave a poster up in my room?” Mike stayed quiet, glaring up at Richie behind his eyebrows. Richie continued, “There’s an old Star Wars poster on the wall—can I just rip it down or do you want to keep it?”

Mike’s eyes widened, “Don’t rip it down. Just—just take it down—gently.”  

“Okie dokie, kiddo.” Mike still sat on his knees, his hands forcefully clenched. If he had been holding a pillow, he probably would have thrown it at Richie already. Richie giggled.

Tilting his head and leaning on the railing, he asked, “So, what did you think of that twist?” Mike eyed him, confused. “You know—Luke and Leia being siblings.”

Mike shrugged his shoulders, looking around the room. “I was surprised,” he said after a moment. “It was unexpected.”

Richie nodded, “Yeah, it was—but Leia was already into Han and Luke is so obviously gay, so it doesn’t matter that much.”

Mike stared at Richie, eyes wide and horrified. “What?”

Richie shrugged, “Shit, I guess it does matter, since Leia can definitely use the force now like Luke, but—”

“Luke is not gay. Don’t—don’t be weird.” Richie pursed his lips, popping them once.

“Weird?”

“That’s gross.” Richie crossed his arms, drumming his fingers.

“What—more gross than fucking making out with your sister?”

Mike crinkled his nose, “No, but—”

Richie smiled, “Do you regularly kiss your sister like that? Cause that is way worse than juvenile phone sex—I’ll take that over—”

“JESUS STOP,” Mike shouted, reaching back to grab a pillow.

From the stairs they heard a shout of, “QUIET DOWN THERE MIKE,” from Ted, successfully quieting the boys. They remained silent for a moment, hearing Karen and Ted have a small conversation. Karen must have scolded him for raising his voice and potentially waking up Holly. Richie let out a giggle, and Mike grumbled and flopped back on the mattress. Richie eyed him, watching Mike mumble under his breath.

“I’d rather be a mister kisser than a sister kisser—you’re nasty, cricket.”

Mike threw the pillow at Richie’s face, his face fiery red. He gave another laugh, this one loud and from his stomach. When another pillow was aimed in his direction, Richie fled up the stairs, wincing and laughing as he went. Mike yelled after him something about staying out of his room before letting out a loud groan. At the top of the stairs, Richie closed the basement door, still giggling.

Letting out a laughing sigh, he turned to see Nancy looking at him, her eyebrows furrowed. She pursed her lips, giving him a look of slight annoyance. She said, “Don’t egg him on—he’s already high strung enough as it is.” Richie tilted his head.

“What—more high strung than you, Nance?” She gave him a sharp stare.

“Yes,” she said with raised eyebrows.

Richie took a breath through his teeth, “Jesus, and here I thought you were the only person I knew with permanent stick-in-ass syndrome.” Nancy huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Good to see you again, too Richie.” She folded her arms before turning and walking away.

Richie gave a breathy laugh, watching her leave him. The kitchen’s light flickered as Mike made a loud thump from under his feet. There on the counter was still Karen’s food and glass, still reasonably full and shaking from the motion. Richie’s shoulders stiffened in the silence. The sink was empty, all the towels folded nicely, and the fridge full of little magnets arranged into words like “HELLO” and “ELEVEN”. In the domestic kitchen Richie felt his fingers twitch and his skin shiver. He pulled out one of the counter chairs, leaving it crooked and different from the others before leaving the room behind, going back up the stairs to his room to remove the Star Wars poster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title song—Wide Eyed Boy from Freecloud
> 
> Richie is picking on Mike, and Mike is making it too easy.  
> Also I totally head canon Luke as gay and I will fight you if you say otherwise  
> (also, Richie has no right to call someone a nerd if he can have a casual conversation about Star Wars like that)


	12. Chapter Twelve: But nervous all the same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for waiting everyone. I'm almost done with my BA, so its crunch time right now. I am also looking for a new job cause i am noooooot a fan of the one I have right now, so its been a little crazy. I made up for the long wait with a longer chapter this time! thank you so much for the patience!

Lucas leaned back on his chair. “Jeez, he sounds annoying, Mike.” Mike gave a grumble, resting his chin in his hand. The group of boys sat at the game table, neglecting the monsters and dice. Once Will, Lucas, and Dustin had arrived on their bikes, Mike brought them inside, instantly complaining. They sat down at their normal game table, it full of their game pieces and a few piles of cheese balls. They sat in their usual arrangement, Dustin on Mike’s right, Lucas on his left, and Will seated opposite him. With wild hand movement and rushed words, he told of the tall, bruised intruder who stole his room, threatened to rip up his posters, and insisted on calling him cricket.

“I still don’t get why he keeps calling me that, but I swear to God, if I hear his stupid face say it once more time, I’m gonna throw something at him,” Mike said, rubbing his forehead and pulling at his hair.

“Didn’t you throw your pillow at him already?” Dustin asked, looking from Mike to Lucas. Mike waved his off with a flipped wrist and a roll of his eyes.

“He is the most obnoxious person alive. I hope he gets his eyes poked out at the doctor’s.” Will, silent, scrunched his nose and gave Mike a crooked smile.

“Gross,” he mumbled.                                            

Dustin scratched his nose and adjusted the brim of his hat. “He sounds kind of funny, actually.”

Mike’s face contorted, his eyes squinting and his mouth agape. “Dustin. He’s not funny.” His voice was stern, his hands planted on the vinyl tabletop.

Dustin shrugged, “He rolled up in a burrito and called your night time talks with El phone sex—I don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner—,”

“It’s not phone sex!” He yelled, face red and blotchy. He leaned forward and smacked Dustin’s hat off his head. The boy let out a snicker before reaching down, picking it up, and making a dramatic motion of dusting off invisible dirt before placing it back on his head. “It’s not funny, man. He’s an asshole.” Mike crossed his arms and leaned back.

Lucas nodded, “He’s picking on you the moment you met—he’s definitely an asshole.” Will gave a stiff nod of agreement.

“I think Mike is just easy to pick on,” Dustin said, giving a toothy smile.

Mike grumbled. “No, he’s a total jerk. The second he came down here, he threatened to rip up my New Hope poster, called Luke Skywalker gay, and accused me of making out with my sister.” The boys simultaneously grimaced. Lucas shook his head, his lips pursed.

“Ugh—that is so gross,” he said, waving his hands around. “I do not _ever_ want to think about you and Nancy making out.” He shuddered. Will joined him, pretend gagging. Mike nodded.

“He’s disgusting,” Mike responded, leaning back and rubbing his nose. Dustin patted the table on his right.

“Wait, wait, wait, back up—Luke Skywalker is not gay.” Dustin sat, wide eyed, his eyes darting between the boys. “There is no concrete evidence that supports that theory.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow, “You’ve heard of that theory?” Dustin ignored him, continuing.

“He liked it when Leia kissed him, right?” He pointed at the table, poking it with emphasis. “Nothing about the way he acted said he didn’t like it when Leia kissed him.”

Lucas squinted, “Leia is Luke’s sister, though.”

“That’s not the point!” Dustin grabbed the corner of the table. “The point is that there is nothing substantial that suggests that Luke is gay—why is that even a question?”

Mike shrugged his shoulders. “I think Richie was just being an asshole.”

Lucas nodded. “Yeah—no one would actually think that. That would, like, mess up Luke’s character.” Dustin pursed his lips and gave a quick jerk of his head in agreement. Shifting in his seat, Will picked at the tips of his fingers, shoulders hunched, giving a slight nod. Above them, a door swung, and the familiar fall of feet banged on the floor. Little flecks of dust floated from the ceiling as the boys simultaneously looked up, hearing muffled voices and childish shrieks. Mike gave a long, drawn out groan.

“He’s home,” he said as the door to the basement opened. Loud stomps paraded down the steps, accompanied by squealing giggles. Riche ducked his head to see the seated boys, Holly dangling upside down from his right arm. Richie paused once to shift her higher, making a dramatic grunt that tailed off into a wince. Holly screamed with a big, toothy smile.

“Hey, Mikey-my-boy, Auntie Karen wants to know if your friends are staying for dinner,” Richie said, squinting at the kids. He adjusted Holly and she let out another giggle.

“You still can’t see? You guys didn’t get glasses from the doctor?” Mike asked, leaning on his hand and side eyeing Richie.

Richie rubbed his nose. “It’ll take, like, two fucking weeks for my new specs to get here.” He swung Holly over his shoulder, carrying her like a fireman. Richie gave a small huff of pain before asking, “And who are these nerds?”

Lucas and Mike share a look as Dustin chimed, “I’m Dustin,” with a wave of his hand. Richie gave him a peace sign. “That’s Will”, Dustin continued, pointing to the boy. Will stared, wide eyed. He looked quickly between Mike and Richie before turning his gaze at his hands. Pink touched his cheeks. “And that is Lucas,” Dustin said, as Lucas rested his chin on his palm and gave a quick head jerk of acknowledgment.

Adjusting the girl on his shoulder, Richie nodded, “Cool—don’t expect me to remember that.” Dustin gave an uncomfortable laugh and mumbled something about how name memory is harder to retain than facial memory. Richie interrupted him, “So, are you guys staying and playing your nerd game? ‘Cause Auntie Karen needs to know how much meatloaf to make.” Richie smiled. “Personally, I don’t think meat is ever supposed to be in loaf form—it’s just unnatural.” He turned to leave, Holly bouncing on his shoulders. With pounding steps, he trotted upstairs, stopping once to pretend to drop the girl, which resulted in another piercing scream. Karen called from the kitchen to lower the volume, and Richie called back, “Excuse me, Auntie Karen, but that is the scream of someone having a grand ol’ time. I know it might sound unfamiliar.” He kicked the door closed with a slam.

The boys listened to the murmurs above before Lucas broke the silence. “Did we even answer the question?” Mike hit his head on the table as both Will and Dustin shook their heads no.

…….

Richie threw Holly onto the couch with a grunt. The girl bounced once before relaxing on the cushions, loud laughs quickly falling from her smile. Richie slumped next to her, a sigh escaping his lips.

Sitting up, Holly pushed his arm. “One more time?”

Richie shook his head. “Holly, kiddo, my body still hates me.” She pouted, falling back. “You think you could ask your mom for an icepack?” Holly scotched forward with a puffed out bottom lip and sagging shoulders.

“Please?”

Raising an eyebrow, Richie saw the girl look up at him, eyes glossy. He snickered, “Jesus, kid—keep that up and you’ll have everyone doing what you want.” He sunk into the couch. “Get me some ice, and once I’m done I’ll give you another piggy back ride, okay?” Holly’s pout morphed into an excited smile, and she jumped off the couch and ran on tiptoes to the kitchen. Richie shouted after her, “You will go far in this world, my child.” He shook his head and gave a breathy laugh. A lull of silence sat in the room, and Richie turned his eyes to the only source of sound at that moment. A small wall clock hung on the wood paneled wall, ticking rhythmically opposite him. It was around 4:11. _Stan is getting ready for Shabbat dinner right now._ He rubbed the back of his neck, stretching out the stiffness. _Eds should be home now, though._ Rolling his shoulders, Richie watched as Holly ran back into the room holding an icepack in her hands. Karen followed behind her, a tired smile on her face.

“Feeling sore?” she asked, twisting the dishtowel in her hands.

“Oh it’s not that bad,” Richie said. “Ribs aren’t really that essential, anyway.” Karen eyed him, shifting from foot to foot. Richie grabbed the icepack from Holly’s hands, the girl holding it out to him like a sacred object. He gently placed it on his right side, doing his best not to let the ache show on his face. The ice settled into his side, and he gave Holly a little wink and a thank you.

“Hey Auntie, could I use the phone?” Karen brought the towel up closer to her chest.

“Who would you like to call?”

Richie shrugged. “Two of my friends—Eddie and Beverly.” Karen’s lips curled at the edges, and her fiddling fingers soothed.

“I’ll give you until dinner,” she said, giving him a hidden smile and a side glance as she walked out of the room. Holly followed after her, asking what was for supper. With a grunt, Richie stood from the couch, making his way over to the reading nook where the phone sat, locked into the wall with a long bending cord. It looked like someone had undone a few of the curls, the normally uniform coils bending out and twisting in misuse. Richie plopped down on the chair and sat back for a moment before picking up the phone. The number he dialed was from muscle memory.

Richie crossed his fingers as the line rang. It chimed twice before a familiar voice sounded on the other line. “Hello, this is Eddie Kaspbrak.” Richie relaxed his spin with a sigh.

“Hey Eds.”

Eddie gasped. “Oh my god—Richie. You made it.” Richie gave a light laugh.

“Yup, I’m at my aunt’s place. It’s just as stuffy as I imagined.” Eddie audibly sniffed on the other line.

“Have you been icing your ribs? And how are your stitches? You haven’t been picking them, right?”

Richie shook his head, “Icing them as we speak, Spaghetti. And the stitches are as beautiful as when you fixed them up for me.”

Eddie breathed into the phone. “You should have changed the bandage by now. You better do that.”

“Righto, there, my love.” Eddie gave a laughing sigh and mumbled “Shut up.”

“So Spaghetti, how is everyone missing me?” Richie leaned his chest on the counter, letting his head rest in his elbow.

Eddie responded, “Well, Ben didn’t stop crying until after we got back to Bill’s house. And Stan was more silent than usual on the drive back.”

Richie buried his face in the crook of his elbow for a moment before pasting a grin on his face. “Aw, shucks. It sounds like you losers really miss little ole me.”

“Of course we miss you,” Eddie paused, “We love you.” Another pause. “I love you.”

Richie gave a light smile. “I love you too, Spaghetti face.”

Eddie groaned. “Will you ever stop with that?”

“Not until you stop being adorable.”

“If that’s the case, then you should never have started calling me that.”

Richie pursed his lips. “Hey—you’re fucking adorable.”

“Nope.”

“Um, yes.”

“I disagree.”

“Too bad—not up for debate, my adorable Spaghetti man with his cute little noodle face and soft rigatoni butt”

Eddie gave a muffled laugh into his receiver. Richie grinned. “What? What does that even mean, you fucking Trashmouth.”

“Oh, you know exactly what it means,” Richie said. Eddie sighed before letting out a small gasp. Riche’s smiled faded.

“Shit, Mom just got back.” Eddie hesitated, his voice low. “Call sometime next week after school. She has her book club—,”

“On Wednesday at 4, I know Eds.” Richie gave a small sigh. “I love you.” Mrs. Kaspbrak called in the background, reaching the receiver and Richie’s ear. “Not as much as I love Mrs. Kasprak, though. Send my favorite ride all my love.”

Eddie groaned, “Shut the fuck up, Richie.” He called back to his mother before saying, “I love you, too. Call me on Wednesday.”

“Will do, kiddo,” Richie answered, and Eddie gave one more whispered goodbye before hanging up the phone, leaving Richie with the dead tone of an ended call. Resting his head on the counter, he shifted the icepack higher on his rib. The phone still rang in his ear as he scrunched his face, feeling the tug on his stitches and the sting on his bruised eye. He shook his head before placing the phone on the receiver before picking it back up and punching in another number. It dialed for a minute before a loud voice answered.

“—and remember to put dish soap in this time, please,” the voice yelled before it quieted to a professional tone. “Marsh residence, this is Pamela.”

“Hey Ms. Marsh its Bev’s friend Richie. Could I talk to her for a sec?”

“I’m sorry but she’s doing the dishes right now—could you call back in a little bit?”

Richie rolled his fingers on the desk. “I promised I’d just tell her I’m all safe and sound.” There was a small gasp of realization.

“Oh—you’re the friend who just moved, correct?”

Richie pursed his lips, “It was more a mandatory uprooting, but moving is a nicer way to put it.” There was a beat of silence before Pamela relented.

“It can only be for a minute—she didn’t do any of her chores all week,” she said with a sigh and an obvious head shake. She called Bev over, “Bevy, your friend is on the line.” A crash was heard as Bev rushed to the phone and snatched the phone out of her aunt’s hands.

“Richie you bastard what took you so long?”

Richie let out a loud laugh. “Girl, I got other stuff going on—I had to unpack my two whole bags of dirty clothes today. What— did you think you were my priority?” he teased.

“I am everybody’s priority,” she said without missing a beat. Richie grinned.

“Right, just like chores are your top priority. How the fuck do you forget dish soap?”

Bev scoffed, “Dukes of Hazzard was on—you think I was going to miss that?”

“Well that John Schneider is pretty gorgeous.”

“I mean, the most handsome man after my boy Ben.”

“Of course—if Eds hadn’t already turned me, I’m sure Schneider’s ten gallon hat would have done it for me.”

“He does it for all of us.” Richie nodded in agreement. Beverly continued, “So how was that bus ride?”

Richie shrugged his shoulders even if she couldn’t see. “As fantastic as you would expect a 10 hour long bus ride to be.” In the corner of his eye Richie spotted Karen leaning on the door frame, watching him. She pointed to his icepack with eyebrows raised. He saw it slipped from its spot, and Richie adjusted it.

Beverly said, “Did you reign in the trashmouth of did everyone on the bus get to hear your characters?” He heard the smile in her voice. Richie jeered.

“I’ll have you know I was entirely respectable—I only made three children cry as opposed to my usual fourteen.”  Karen raised an eyebrow at him, but Richie just smiled at her. Holly tugged at her mother’s pants, waiting for Richie to finish.

“Well it sounds like you are shaping up to be a fine young gentleman,” she answered.

“But of course,” he said with a British accent. Beverly gave a small laugh.

“Aunt Pam is giving me the ‘shut up and do your chores’ signal—I got to go.” Richie’s shoulder slumped slightly.

“Well, Ms. Marsh’s word is law.” He leaned back on the chair. “Give her a high five for me, alright?”

“Will do, Rich.”

“Talk to you soon, Bevy.”

“Love you.”

Riche smiled. “Love you, too.” He placed the phone back on the receiver. Karen leaned on the wall, her face trying and failing to suppress a grin. Holly let go of her mother’s pant leg, inching to Richie’s side. Richie gave Karen a slightly confused smile, it curling at the edges of his lips.

“Beverly seems nice,” she said, tilting her head to the side.

Richie nodded his head, “Yeah, she’s pretty fantastic.” He raised an eyebrow at her when Karen gave him a strange, thoughtful smile before turning back toward the kitchen. Holly poked Richie’s knee.

“Are you all done?” she asked, sucking on a lock of blonde hair.

Richie grinned, placed the icepack on the counter, and scooped her up in his arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title song—Absolute Beginners
> 
> Richie is too gay to function. Did you like the little conversations? I liked writing Bev and Richie's back and forth dialog a lot, but I'm still not sure how i feel about this chapter.  
> Also I had no idea what Bev's aunt's name is, so I just went with Pam since I watched The Office earlier today :)


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Are you ready for a brand new beat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Its been a while, i know. But I have news!  
> I finished my degree with a 4.0! Summa cum laude bitches!!!  
> It's so weird to say i'm proud of myself, but I really am. It's been four years of ridiculous work but i made it and I made it with the unhealthy perfectionism that I put my self worth in. And now on to the masters, since I seem to be a perpetual student.  
> But anyway, if anyone is still reading this story, thank you so much for the patience!

Richie made a face at Mike when he looked at the meatloaf on his plate. He gave a dramatic grimace as he took a bite, pretend gagging before swallowing it and giggling to himself. Tapping his fork on his plate, Mike rolled his eyes. The group sat around the table, a few folded chairs shoved in between the oak dining chairs for the guests to sit on. Mike shifted on the uncomfortable metal, side eyeing Richie as his cousin leaned over to take a spoonful of rice before sitting back on the cushioned chair seated next to Nancy.

“So how has school been, boys? Dustin, you were working on a project for Mr. Clarke, right?” Karen asked, taking a small bite of a woody asparagus. She smiled at the boys before nodding to Nancy to pass the salt and pepper. Dustin stopped shoveling rice into his mouth, wiping his face with the back of his hand, and went into a hurried explanation of his project about electrophysiology. He waved his arms around, accidentally flinging rice onto Will, who jumped in surprise before giving a small laugh and brushing the rice off the table onto the floor. Richie noticed and snickered. Lucas, who was in between Will and Ted, totally ignored Dustin’s speech, having heard it multiple times. He quietly ate his meatloaf, his chin resting in his hand.

“It’s going to be amazing—the human nervous system is so intricate. I’m going to demonstrate it in class with a frog.” Dustin gave a smile with his new adult teeth, a few stray asparagus strings stuck in between them.

Richie, mouthful of rice, said, “That’s some Frankenstein shit, man.” Nancy raised an eyebrow at him.

Ted, looking up over the edge of the Hawkins Post, firmly responded, “Language.”

Richie stopped a moment, eyes darting from Karen’s disapproving side eye as she helped Holly with her meatloaf. Leaning forward on his elbows, he swallowed his food and followed with, “Excuse me, Uncle Ted.” He paused, turning to Dustin. “That’s some mother fucking Frankenstein shit, man.” Lucas choked on his meatloaf as Karen whipped her head back to Richie.

Ted folded down the paper. “Language!” Richie pursed his lips to hide a growing smile. Nancy and Mike’s eyes connected before they both looked toward their father. He had the determined look that used to work on them when they were children, chest puffed and eyes squinting. “That’s enough of that—I don’t want to hear foul language like that.”

Richie leaned toward Nancy and mumbled to her, “Jesus, what does your dad have against birds?” He smirked when she shook her head at him, a groan falling from her lips.  Ted gave him a weak look before folding his paper back up and returning to the daily news.

Karen, attempting to break the awkward tension, said, “I bet the kids in the class will enjoy that a lot.” Dustin shrugged and smiled. “And are you boys all getting ready for graduation?” They all nodded, Mike and Lucas looking uninvolved while Will and Dustin looked up from their food. Dustin nodded enthusiastically while Will picked at his fingers, eyeing his meatloaf and rice. Karen tilted her head at Will. “Are you nervous about it, Will?” He shrugged.

“I just don’t like the idea of being on stage,” he mumbled, his fork pushing a piece of asparagus back and forth.

Nancy said, “It’s not that bad, Will. You just walk across the stage. No one really cares that much.” She gave him a small smile, and the corners of Will’s mouth twitched up for a second. Richie saw the nervous twitch of Will’s fingers as his fork stabbed into the asparagus, bringing it up to his mouth and scrunching his nose a little at the bitter flavor.

“You know I did a speech at my middle school graduation,” Richie said, leaning forward. Karen’s eyebrows raised. Mike snorted.

“What, did you grab the mic and streak across the stage?” He stared at Richie, raising his head in a challenging glare. Richie just smiled.

“Nah, I was valedictorian.”

The table was silent, all heads raised and staring. Richie looked around the table. “Christ, you all think really low of me,” he laughed.

Mike squinted his eyes. “You’re lying.” Richie shrugged and shook his head.

“Nope, they actually let this idiot on stage to give a speech. You don’t know how pissed my friend Ben was—he was .3% behind me.”

Karen clasped her hands. “That’s fantastic, Richie. What did you speak about?”

Richie smirked, “How unsupportive and terrible all the teachers were.”

Nancy sighed, “Of course you did.” She angrily picked at her food. Mike recalled her fussing over her middle school graduation and competing for valedictorian with another girl whose name he couldn’t remember. Nancy brushed her nose with a finger, her face pinched.

Leaning to look at Will, Richie said, “How about this—at your graduation, I’ll make sure to do something stupid and loud when you go on stage. That way everyone will be looking at me, instead.” Mike watched as pink tinted Will’s cheeks. He gave Richie a little curved smile and Mike saw Richie wink at him before going back to his meatloaf, obviously holding his nose while taking a bite. Mike sniffed and shoved rice in his mouth.

………

“Delicious, Auntie,” Richie said, leaning back on his seat, stretching his hands above his head. Dustin and Lucas took the plates from the table as Ted retreated to the television. Karen sighed when she saw him plop down on his La-Z-Boy and immediately lean back, shutting his eyes with his hands placed on his stomach. Mike followed Lucas into the kitchen, murmuring something Richie couldn’t hear under his breath.

“Thank you Richie. Have you gotten over your fear of meatloaf?”

Richie shrugged. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve eaten.”

Karen shook her head. “High praise.” Richie cackled as she walked away, a sighing laugh escaping her mouth. Nancy picked Holly up out of her chair and Richie waved at her from over Nancy’s shoulder. The girl hid, peaking out behind Nancy’s hair with a silly face. Richie gave a surprised face, and the girl smothered her giggle into Nancy’s neck. Rolling his shoulders, Richie placed a hand gently on his side, feeling the slight ache. He sniffed in the silence, pressing against his side.

“Do you need ice?” asked Will. Richie whipped his head to the boy, him still seated in his fold-up chair. Will’s eyes darted from Richie to the table, then to the side. His shoulders were hunched, his back a curved question mark. He looked like he was doing his best to disappear, curling up into nothing.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” Will nodded stiffly before raising from the chair, pushing it in, and walking around in the direction of the kitchen. Stalling by the doorframe, he shook his head, his pin straight hair tossing lightly, and swiveled back to look at Richie.

“I just,” he paused. Taking a breath, he said, “I just wanted to let you know that I agree with you.” He stared at Richie, and Richie raised an eyebrow.

“Agree about what?”

“About Luke Skywalker.” Will hesitated but continued, “About him being gay.” His sentence quieted toward the end, like he was afraid someone in the other room would hurt him for saying the word. Richie straightened his back, staring at the boy who stood stiffly in front of him.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Richie said, “I mean—it’s pretty fucking obvious.”

Will let out a gasping laugh, “Totally.” He raised his head, giving Richie a small, quivering smile. Richie returned it with a grin.

“I’ve got you, kiddo.” Will nodded quickly before turning out of the room to get ice. Richie slumped back in his chair, eyes wide and body stiff. His head lulled back and a long sigh escaped his lips. “Poor kid,” he mumbled. A call from the kitchen broke his silence, and Richie stood, placing both hands on the table to steady himself. “What is it?” he called back.

Karen poked her head out from the hall, a dish towel in her hands. “I was wondering if you have a nice shirt to wear to church tomorrow.”

Richie stiffened. “What?”

Karen responded, going back to her dishes, out of his view. “We have church at 9 tomorrow morning. Do you have anything nice you could wear?”

Richie scrunched his eyes. “Um, could I do literally anything else tomorrow? Like stay home and clean? Or get arrested?”

Karen responded with a firm, “No, you’re coming.” She walked back into the dining room, drying a glass in her hands. “We go every Sunday as a family.” Richie stared at her, his eyes pleading. She raised an eyebrow, her lips pursed. “I’m not bending on this.” Turning on her heel, she strolled out, calling back, “You can borrow one of your uncle’s old shirts. Make sure to wear jeans without any holes.”

Richie plopped back onto his chair, resting his head on the oak table.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song title—Dancing in the street
> 
> I know not much really happened in this chapter, so for people waiting for updates, its probably pretty disappointing. I'm slowly getting somewhere with this, but I wanted to build on the characters as much as I can. I still haven't really figured out what I'm going to do with Nancy, but I know what I'm doing with Will. He is a smol child and Richie wants to protect him.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: I’ve never done good things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back. I have no excuse for not updating like the day after I posted the last chapter. I was already close to finished with this chapter when I posted chapter thirteen, but I have been enjoying my time away from school, and have thus been leaving my laptop off. Today I got antsy, since I hadn't written in a while, so I sat down and finished this chapter (and am debating starting another, totally unrelated fanfic)  
> thank you everyone for sticking with me!  
> also this chapter is kind of short sry

“The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all,” the priest said, his arms outreaching to the congregation. His voice was a low drawl that carried over the room, creating quiet among the crowd. Richie sat silent as everyone responded “And with you in spirit” simultaneously. He tugged at the loose collar of his dress shirt. It was pinstriped, obviously over 10 years old judging by the 70s print donning the fabric. Richie pulled the short sleeves down, doing his best to cover his wrists with the cheap material. He slouched in the pew, peering over to see Karen with Holly on her lap, the girl awkwardly shifting on her mother’s legs. Her hair was pinned back in intricate purple bows that she tugged at. Karen pulled her hands away from her hair, pressing her blonde locks back into place. Beside her sat Mike, his dress suit stiff and pressed, his bow tie placed just right. Ted was on Mike’s left, his head already lolling back in his attempt to stay awake. _How he could fall asleep in seats specifically designed to be uncomfortable enough to keep you awake is beyond me,_ Richie thought, leaning his arms on the pew in front of him, resting his head on his hands. Karen tapped his shoulder, and he saw her give him a firm stare, her eyebrows raised and her lips a thin line. Richie sighed and sat back on the seat, watching the fat priest speak briefly about the sermon before turning around and chanting something in a loud single note. Richie scratched his nose, shifting and wincing as his bruised side aches from them uncomfortable pews. Stretching his neck, he looked across the room to see Nancy seated with some older boy who was wearing a loose tie. He sat between Nancy and Will, leaning down to whisper something to the boy. Will responded with a small smile and said something back, making the other boy give a crooked grin.

Suddenly, everyone stood and began reciting something at the same time. Richie shot up off his seat, looking for what they were reading, but saw that they were all staring straight ahead, speaking from memory. Even Holly was murmuring certain words, her hand clasped securely in her mother’s. Richie, with raised shoulders and fingers fiddling with his shirt sleeves, scanned the church, watching the jaws of the people synchronize, falling and rising as each word passed their lips. He felt familiar stares as he noticed a group of older women, mouths still moving, eyeing him suspiciously. He held his jaw tight, squinting to make their faces clearer, but only found fuzzy scowls. Picking at the seams of his jeans, Richie shifted in his stance, his eyes returning to find their disapproving looks. Biting the inside of his mouth, Richie rolled back his shoulders and gave the women a wide smile, winking. They gave short gasps in between their memorized phrases, and Richie chuckled under his breath, placing his hands in his pockets and leaning back and forth on his heels.

Then, the congregation stopped all at once, letting the priest speak before periodically saying, “Lord, have mercy.” Richie followed along until the organ behind him started playing. He flinched at the sudden sound and watched as once again the room became synchronized, a hymn that was not popular enough for him to recognize filling the space. And suddenly it was too loud, too much, and Richie leaned down to Karen’s ear.

“Auntie Karen, where is the bathroom?” She turned up to him, and he offered his ear.

“Right down the main hall to the left. Should be a little sign on the door.” Richie nodded and patted her shoulder in thanks, and made his way passed the disapproving eyes of the older women straight to the exit.

Richie took a slow intake of breath as the church doors closed behind him. The organs were muffled by the wooden doors, and Richie scanned the sidewalk, seeing the church sign describing the morning sermon. A few of the ushers were standing around the sign, having checked off their spiritual box for the week. Cigarettes hanging from their mouths, they joked loudly, their large stomachs jostling with the movement. Flexing his fingers, Richie itched, his lungs remembering the taste of lingering smoke and tar. Searching as well as he could, Richie spied what appeared to be general store a block down the road. Hands in his pockets, he trotted down the church steps and crossed the road.

……

When the familiar bell chimed from above the door, Joyce raised her head, pausing in her conversation with a regular customer. A tall, bruised boy walked in, fussing quietly with his ill-fitting shirt. Joyce gave him a smile that the boy stiffly returned, and she went back to discussing the weather and what her children were up to. Another chime rang in the room, and Joyce brushed a dark hair behind her ear, looking back to the door.

“Jean, where have you been,” asked the low, familiar drawl of Chief Hopper. He was suited in his uniform, his beard still unkempt and his buttons still stretching from one too many beers.

“Isn’t it obvious, I’m avoiding you,” joked the customer, Hopper clapping his shoulder with his hand. Joyce gave a small chuckle as the men continued their banter. Over their shoulders she saw the tall boy looking from Hopper to something behind her for a moment before busying himself with the key chain stand.

Hopper turned to Joyce, raising an eyebrow. “Since when do you work Sundays?”

Joyce shrugged her shoulders, “Since Donald got sick last night and begged me to come and help.” Hopper shook his head.

“That man works you too much, kiddo.”

Joyce made a face. “Please, I can handle the shop anytime, Hop.”

Hopper and Jean nodded in agreement. “We know you can handle anything, Joyce,” Jean said. “Oh, did you grab the Camels for me?”

Joyce raised her hands in a rush of movement. “Oh, damn it—look at me.” She turned behind her to grab a pack, looking back to ask, “one or two,” and when she got a confirmation took two packs from the shelf. Before turning back she grabbed Hopper’s usual Marlboros and placed her handful of cigarettes onto the counter. Joyce gave a sigh and leaned towards the men. “So have you been cutting back like you said you would, Hop?”

Hopper rubbed the back of his neck guiltily, and Joyce shook her head, a smile reaching her lips. Jean gave a laugh before smacking the chief’s back. “Right there with you, Jim. The wife’s been making me sit out on the porch, now.” He raising his shoulders. “She can’t stand the smell anymore.”

Hopper gave a laugh, moving to speak when a crash startled them, and they whipped their head at the boy. He stood, eyes wide, as the keychain stand fallen onto the ground.

“Shit—shit I’m sorry—I was trying to spin it and it just fucking collapsed,” he said, moving his hair out of his face to reveal a stitched cheek and spotty bruising. Joyce rushed, moving from behind the counter to his side.

“It’s alright—this old thing was already falling apart,” she said, picking up some of the key chains off the floor. For a moment, she tried to lift the metal stand, but found it too heavy. “Hop, could you help me with this?” Hopper and Jean instantly crouched down, ignoring the fidgeting boy as he stepped aside toward the checkout counter, out of the way. Hopper, with a final push, got the stand upright, and Joyce and Jean gathered all the fallen key chains, hanging them back onto the small pegs while Hop secured the stand back in place. Joyce barely registered the twinkle of the door’s bell as she did her best to place named key chains together, eventually shaking her head and just shoving any key chain anywhere, vowing to sort it when the store got slow.

“Jesus, kid be more careful,” Hopper said, turning around to find them alone in the store. Joyce stretched her neck looking down aisles and corners, the boy nowhere to be seen. “And he’s gone,” Hopper shook his head, scratching the back of his neck with his hat.

“You see the bruises on his face?” Joyce asked, gesturing to her own cheek with a quick motion. Hopper rubbed his eye for a second, nodding.

“You ever seen him before? At Jonathan’s school?” Joyce shrugged her shoulders, crossing her arms. With her eyebrows furrowed in worry, she shook her head, “Let me ring you guys up.” She walked back to the counter, reaching to grab Jean’s basket when the man gave a scrunched face.

“Um, where are the cigarettes?” Jean asked, pointing at the counter. Joyce and Hopper followed his finger to the now empty counter top, the three packs of cigarettes missing. Joyce raised a brow before turning back to Hopper, who gave a loud sigh and a mumbled curse.

“—fucking teenagers,” Hopper said, putting his hat back on. “Christ, the fucking kid lifted them.” With quick steps, he swung open the door and rushed outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song title—Ashes to Ashes
> 
> I made up the character Jean entirely, he is no where in the Stranger Things world. I needed some random character to throw into this scene. Actually, he is loosely based off of one of my favorite customers that comes into the bank every day. Hop is on the case, Richie is a little criminal, fake-scared boi and Joyce is tired. I have o idea how to write Hopper's dialog-- I gotta work on that for the next chapter.
> 
> Richie did say he'd rather be arrested than go to church :D


	15. Chapter Fifteen: They say your life is going very well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live  
> again, sorry for the lack of updates. I feel like you are all used to this by now so I might stop apologizing every update  
> But life has been crazy. Right now at work I am a part time employee who works overtime. One coworker sick, another a total jerk and quitting, so now we're wicked understaffed. I'm doing my best to help everyone, but now my life has taken a backseat until we get some new people. I'm not gonna leave them while they're already understaffed, but I need to get a new gig.  
> anyway, thats my life update and excuse for not updating.  
> Also this chapter gave me wicked writers block.

Karen shifted in her seat, rolling her shoulders against the hard wood of the pew. Holly’s head was draped in her lap, the girl doing her best to remain silent during the priest’s sermon. Hands in front of her face, she closed and opened her fingers and thumbs, her hands matching the low drawl coming from the pulpit. The girl’s legs were laying up on the pew, crossed on the ankles, taking up the space where Richie was previously sitting. Patting Holly’s head, Karen craned her neck, leaning back to look at the exit. It had been nearly 20 minutes and Richie had yet to return from his trip to the bathroom. Furrowing her brows and darting her eyes, Karen slid slightly closer Mike on her left. He sat still with slouched shoulders and glazed eyes.

“Mike, go check on Richie in the restroom,” she whispered.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “What—did he get lost?” He sniffed and looked straight ahead. “He can find his way back.” Karen reached to his leg and grabbed his leg, shaking it.

“Now,” Karen said, giving his leg one firm grip before releasing it. With a roll of his eyes, Mike rose from his seat and shuffled passed Karen and Holly to the bathroom. Karen watched as he disappeared down the hall, her hands now playing with Holly’s hair. She ruffled her bangs before smoothing the blonde locks back into place, only to ruffle them again. With pinched lips she forced her eyes back on the priest, his words drifting through her ears but not quite reaching her. When Holly started brushing Karen’s fingers away, Mike returned, poking his mother’s shoulder with a finger.

“The bathroom is out of order,” he whispered. “I asked one of the ushers, and he said it’s been broken since yesterday.” Mike moved Holly’s legs off the chair with a quick shove, and her feet hit the ground with a smack. She pouted, shoving his shin with her foot.

“Since yesterday?” Karen asked, ignoring her daughter’s misbehavior. Mike shrugged, pursing his lips. Karen straightened her back, furrowing her eyebrows. With eyes closed and a long sigh escaping her mouth, Karen rose from her seat and said a quiet, mumbled “Shit.”

……..

“Shit,” Hopper said as he rushed out the doors. They chimed closed behind him as he scanned the streets, his hat shading his eyes. “Shit shit shit,” he whispered, searching the surrounding area, eyes catching on any passing person. Few resembled the bruised boy who just exited the store and Hopper circled around, searching down the streets. In the distance, he caught sight of a tall thin figure jogging toward the church. With a grunt, he took off in pursuit.

Hopper ran toward the boy, one hand on his hat as it threatened to fall off his head. The kid continued his casual jogging, and Hopper caught up to his eased movements quickly. “Hey—stop,” he called, and the boy responded with a quick turn of his head, and then proceeded to turn his jog into a sprint. “Jesus Christ,” Hopper murmured before speeding up, reaching the boy and snatching his arm. The boy struggled for a moment before facing the chief, eyes darting around. Hopper tightened his grip as the boy gave one stiff sniff before straightening his back and taking a breath.

“What seems to be the problem, Officer,” he asked, putting on a relaxed smile and raising both of his hands up in a surrender. Hopper’s bushy eyebrows furrowed.

“Hand them over, kid,” he said. The boy again looked around, this time in confusion. With a small smirk, the boy shrugged his shoulders.

“Sir, I think you’re mistaking me for someone,” the boy shrugged again. “I’m just a simple sinner on my way to church.” He pointed with his thumb at the old Catholic church that was finishing the organ music for the end of communion. Hopper tightened his grip.

“Cut the shit and hand them over,” he threatened, his skin pricking in annoyance. Hopper gave his arm a quick yank, and the boy responded with his own.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” the boy said, giving another yank of his arm, and Hopper reacted with swift precision. He twisted the boy’s arm behind the kid’s back, him protesting loudly. The chief grabbed his other arm and with a forceful shove pushed the boy into a nearby car. Hopper bent him so his face was kissing the hood of the car, one hand now pressing the kid’s head down while the other clasped both of his thin wrists together.

The boy attempted to twist his arms away, but Hopper tightened his grip. “’ey, Ponch, this is all lovely and kinky, but I got to tell you that—.”

“Shut up,” he said with force. The kid tried to twist again, and Hopper pushed his head down. The boy let out a small yelp as Hopper pushed his stomach again the car, the kid’s face turning from a snarky smile into a grimace. Hopper leaned to the kid’s ear and began to speak in a steady, powerful voice. “Where are—.”

“JAMES HOPPER,” interrupted a loud call, and Hopper raised his head to see Karen Wheeler running toward them, the doors of the church opened with people flooding out of the service. Head down and hands clenched, she rushed to them, only stopping a small distance from Hopper and the boy. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Hopper, eyebrows lined in confusion, looked behind Karen at the small crowd forming in the distance. “Police work,” he responded easily. Like it was obvious.

Karen crossed her arms, fingernails digging into her arms. “And what has my nephew done?” Hopper raised an eyebrow.

“Auntie, it’s alright, I got this handled,” the boy said, his voice light despite the look of pain on his face.

“Richie, the adults are talking,” Karen responded. The kid, Richie, shrugged as well as he could while being pinned down, and shut up for the moment. With her foot tapping rapidly, Karen asked, “What’s he suspected of doing?”

“Shoplifting—I witnessed him stealing cigarettes from Melvald’s,” Hopper said.

Karen’s eyebrows raised. “You saw him take them?”

Hopper’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Karen—he was there, caused a distraction, and then the cigarettes were gone.” A small crowd of church goers watched as Karen raised her head, eyeing Hopper down her nose.

“So have you searched him and found anything? ‘Cause everything you’ve just told me is nothing but circumstantial evidence.” Hopper tightened his grip and set his jaw. From under him he head Richie start to laugh.

“Holy shit, Auntie—do you watch CHiPs too? That was some police shit right there—.”

Both Hopper and Karen shouted at the boy, Karen with a firm, “Richie please, we’re having a discussion,” and Hopper with a loud, “Shut up.” The boy continued to giggle under his breath, letting out a quite wince in between breaths.

Karen shook her head and spoke, “Pat him down, Chief.” She waved one hand at Richie, “See if you find the cigarettes.” Behind her, the other Wheelers stood together, arms crossed and looking anywhere but the eyes of the lingering congregation. Nancy stood as close to Jonathan as possible, attempting to blend into the crowd and not into her family. Mike was keeping Holly from running up to Richie, the girl’s lip quivering, big and puffed. Closest to Karen stood Ted, his hands placed in his pockets, his stance relaxed and confident. Hopper stared Karen in the eye for one slow second before raising Richie to his full height. He released his wrists, but forced him to lean with both hands flat against the hood of the car. Firm hands traced down Richie’s legs and arms, in between his legs, which resulted in a high pitched sound from the boy. Hopper ignored him, his eyebrows pinched and his jaw clenched.

Nothing. There were no cigarettes on the kid.

Standing, Hopper looked over the kid’s shoulder at Karen, who stood in the same position—arms crossed and foot tapping. She shifted her weight to her right foot, drumming her fingers against her upper arm once before saying a loud, “Well?”

Hopper stood slight before giving a huff and shoving Richie toward his aunt with a grunt. “Don’t make me do this again, kid,” he said, glaring at Richie as the boy gave the cop a nod and two thumbs up. Karen grabbed Richie’s shoulder, and practically dragged him away, giving one loud quip to the audience before collecting the rest of her children and pushing them all toward their vehicle. While Hopper watched the small crowd begin to disperse, he adjusted his hat, staring at the back of the tall, bruise kid. The boy looked back once, gave Hopper a large, toothy grin, and jogged behind his rushing aunt. Hopper shook his head, clenching his jaw, and headed back to Melvald’s.

……….

The drive back to the house was relatively silent, save for Holly’s quite singing in the back seat. Nancy had gone back to the Byer’s house to help Jonathan make dinner for his mother, so car was full of the remaining Wheelers with Richie seated in the back on the driver’s side. Richie’s eyes occasionally connected with Karen’s in the rearview mirror, her eyes focused and intense. He quickly turned to stare out the window.

Once they arrived at the house, Karen silently left the car, taking Holly out of her booster seat. Mike retreated to the basement, taking off his bow tie as he went. Ted followed behind the family, immediately heading to the living room and sitting down in his La-Z-Boy with an elongated grunt. As Holly toed off her shoes and ran to her doll house, Richie watched Karen remove her purse and place it on the reading nook before continuing forward into the kitchen. Richie stood in hall for a moment, his fingers twitching in the silence before he followed Karen. In the kitchen, she was leaning into the fridge, looking intently at its contents. Richie leaned on the counter, shifting his weight back and forth, before breaking the silence. “Do we have any mac and cheese?”

“Did you steal the cigarettes,” Karen said, whipping her body to stand full and fierce. Her arms were stiff at her side, hands clenched into tight fists that shook. Richie eyed them for a moment, a chill running down his back.

“You saw him give me the ol’ pat down, Auntie,” Richie said. Gesturing a patting motion, he continued, “He was very thorough, believe me—.”

“Richard Tozier.” Karen took a step forward, her voice unwavering. “Look me in the eye.” With a stead glare, she studied his face, reading any flinching expression on his face. He stood steely. “Did you steal the cigarettes?”

A moment’s pause passed as Richie kept his gaze on her face. Then, he said a firm, “No.”

Switching her gaze rapidly between both of his eyes, Karen searched for an inkling. A sign. A fleeting moment of low confidence. After giving him one more look, she turned back into the fridge. “I’ll make some mac and cheese for everyone for lunch. Let Mike know, please.” Richie nodded, tapped the counter in a quick rhythm, and opened the basement door to give Mike a quick call. He didn’t wait for a response before shutting the door and heading up to his bedroom, rushing up the steps. With his back pressed firmly against his door, Richie let himself take a loud breath and a shuddering exhale. Shaking his head, he took off his ill-fitting shirt, tossing it onto the floor. Untying his shoes, he took out the single cigarette he was able to cram into his sneaker before he had hidden the three packs. Opening his window, he took in another wobbly breath of fresh air before grabbing his lighter from the desk, igniting it after three failed, fidgeting attempts, and lighting his cigarette.

He put it to his lips and inhaled. Head in his hands, Richie let out a quiet, relieved, “Shit.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song—Letter to Hermione
> 
> Look at that idiot. Stupid, stupid, risk taking boy.
> 
> Also my super obscure old-cop-show references in there. Like does anyone actually watch CHiPs anymore?? do people even know what that is??? idk man idk


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Pull the blinds and change their minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man.  
> so.
> 
> yeah sorry guys.  
> Life has been kind of weird lately.  
> I've been working a lot (we were severely understaffed at work) and then when I graduated I sort of migrated away from writing for a while. I haven't picked up my laptop in months. I feel really bad cause I didn't want this story to be so sporadic, but this chapter gave me a lot of writers block.
> 
> But yeah life has been a lot. Working a lot. I did inktober for the first time ever (ehem. shameless instagram plug @catmogrady) but I've been trying to adopt healthier life stuff, and that involves losing some weight without developing an eating disorder like in the past, going to the doctors which has given me mega anxiety for the past 5 years (yes its been 5 years since i've been for a routine check up). so. I'm sorry.  
> thats all I can really say at this point.

Jonathan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the faint music playing over the car radio. His rhythm faltered as the tune changed, Nancy in the passenger seat fiddling with the stations and failing to settle on a song. She huffed to herself, complaining quietly to Jonathan that there was a lack of quality music on the radio. He smiled and returned the sentiment. In the backseat, Will stared out the window, watching shadowed trees pass by his sight. He did his best not to focus too much on the dark spots, keeping his eyes clear of any shadow that seemed to creep too much. He rubbed his nose with a sniff. “You don’t have to stay, Jonathan. I was over their house yesterday and Richie was nice.”

“I almost saw the kid get arrested today, Will,” Jonathan said, giving his fingers a quick drum. “We’re just going to drop off Nancy and thank Mrs. Wheeler. You’ll get to see your friends tomorrow at school anyway.” Will hung his head.

Nancy sighed. “God, don’t remind me.” She rubbed her forehead. “Jesus, Jonathan. What is this kid gonna be like at school?” With a sigh, Nancy crossed her arms, leaning her body to look toward Jonathan.

Jonathan shrugged. “Has he been like this the whole time?” Nancy pursed her lips.

With a hushed voice, she said, “All he does is stay in his room and come out to make everyone annoyed and then go right back. I have no freaking clue what he’s doing up there.” She shook her head. “And now this.”

From the backseat, Will added, “Holly likes him a lot.” He laced his fingers together, only unlacing them to pick at his hangnails. Jonathan eyed him in the mirror, watching his brother’s familiar nervousness.

Nancy continued, “Oh yeah, the 4-year-old loves him—cause he acts just like a kid. I mean, God, you should have heard what he said at dinner—Will, you heard him.” Will shrugged with a slight nod. “He swore at my dad. Not out of anger or whatever, but specifically because my dad told him not to swear. God, he just—,” she waved her hands, “—he just can’t shut up.” She threw her hands down on her lap, letting out a sigh like she’d been stuffing her words away for a while. Jonathan let her breathe for a moment, switching his gaze between his brother, his girlfriend, and the road ahead. The headlights lit up the faded yellow lines of the median, letting him stay in his lane.

Once the frustrated sighs relaxed, he asked, “Was he like this when he was little?”

Nancy paused before once again giving him a shrug. “Kind of? Less chaotic—or maybe more chaotic? I think he’s more focused when he tries to be annoying now and before he just didn’t know when to stop talking.” She rested her head in her hand and leaned it against the window. “Like—before I think he was acting out to get attention. But it’s different now.”

“Is it?” Jonathan asked, raising an eyebrow. Nancy sniffed. A silence fell on the car, the radio momentarily turning to static as they passed through a dead zone. Will played with his seat belt.

“I think he’s nice,” he mumbled to himself. Jonathan missed the comment as they drove for a few more minutes, arriving at the Wheelers house with a slow turn into the driveway. Nancy gave a dramatic groan, opening the car door and walking over to Jonathan’s side. Jonathan and Will exited, and the group walked through the freshly mowed grass up to the front door. Nancy let the group inside, calling for her mother.

Karen poked her head out from the kitchen, giving a small wave. “Hey Nancy, he boys.” The Byers both gave quick, respectful hellos, and Jonathan followed Nancy into the kitchen. Will, taking his shoes off at the door, stood still for a moment, searching throughout the house. Ted was passed out on the couch, looking comfortable and unmoving. Holly must have high jacked the television and turned it to a rerun of the Muppets. Gene Kelly was currently singing “You Wonderful You” to Miss Piggy, and Holly was swaying along with the beat. Will gave her a smile and a wave which she ignored. He kicked his shoes to the side, standing in the doorway. Mike was likely downstairs in his new bedroom. Will tugged at his sleeves, peering into the kitchen. Nancy and Jonathan were talking with Karen, Nancy visibly rolling her eyes and Karen giving a large sigh, her shoulders raising and lowering in one long wave. He heard the distant voices of Karen trying to convince Jonathan to stay for dinner. With his feet light, Will slipped back and climbed the carpeted stairs, holding the railing as he went. Once at the top of the stairs, he turned toward what he knew used to be Mike’s bedroom and creaked it open with a gentle turn of the doorknob.

Inside, Richie sat shirtless on the floor, his few belongings scattered round the room. He was leaning against his bed using a book as a table to write on, his headphones securely placed on his ears. Will could hear the music spilling from the Walkman, the familiar sound of The Who reaching Will’s ears. Richie’s eyebrows were scrunched in concentration as he paused in his writing to shake the stiffness out of his hand. Will opened the door a bit more, and Richie noticed the motion. Removing this head phones, he said, “Jesus Christ, you guys can’t just sneak up on a blind man like that.” He shook he head. “One day you’ll all be sued for ableism, and I won’t blame them.” Will gave him a small smile and stepped into the room. Richie squinted at him before recognizing Will and twisting his eyebrows for a moment. Will rubbed his arm a little before walking towards Richie.

“What are you writing?”

Richie paused a moment before giving a dramatic wave of his arms and stating, “I am writing of the horrors of this jail cell known as the Wheeler Household. No one is prepared to read of the cruelty I’ve faced here.” He brushed an imaginary tear from his eye. Will raised an eyebrow.

“What, like making you eat meatloaf and go to church?”

“No—don’t even speak of it. No one should be treated with basic discipline like this. It’s abusive, truly.” Will gave him a small chuckle. Richie smiled a toothy grin. “I’m just writing a letter to my friends.”

Will paused a moment, biting his lip before saying, “You have friends?”

Richie laughed and put a hand over his heart. “Oh man. I felt that. Right here.” He pointed to his heart and Will tried not to focus too much on the fact that he was shirtless. He gave another quiet, nervous laugh and looked down from his chest, noticing the bruising on his sides. They were a deep purple, certain spots looking like the aged yellow and green of old marks. Will looked away.

“My friends are gonna have to deal with school without the most amazing person ever making their lives great, so they need something full of references and jokes to hold them over until I go to see them.” Richie put his pencil in his mouth for a moment. Standing in the middle of the room, Will shifted from foot to foot before taking a quick breath and sitting down on the floor. Crossing his legs, he placed his hands in his lap.

“So what, are you going to write a poem or something to them? A soliloquy?”

Richie removed the pencil from his mouth and pointed it at Will. “Right-o there kiddo. It needs to be dramatic and stupidly theatrical. Something that all my buddies will look at and shake their heads at and hate, but secretly love and remind them of their poor, lost Richie.” He leaned his head back against the mattress, flipping his pencil around his pointer finger. Will watched it spin for a moment, hunching his back and looking at the stretch of Richie’s neck. Blushing, he quickly turned his head away, staring at the pile of laundry on the floor.

“You should write an acrostic,” Will said. Richie raised his head from the bed and gave him a what-the-fuck-is-that look.

“It’s a poem where the first letter of each line writes out a word. You could write your friends names or something.” Will shrugged his shoulders. Richie’s eyes widened.

With a grin, Richie said, “Kiddo. That right there. That is genius. Perfect. Like—,” he nodded his head, “—this is a fucking golden idea. I can annoy my friends so much with that. Here,” he scooted closer to Will while grabbing a new piece of paper. “Here, show me how to write it.” He thrust the paper at Will, the boy silently taking the notebook paper and placing it along with a book on his lap. “They’re gonna hate this—I promise,” Richie added, a wide smile on his face. Will sniffed and forced a nervous giggle down and grabbed a pencil.

………

“Mike, it’s almost time for dinner. Go wash up and get Richie and set the table.”

Mike rolled his eyes, closing his comic book, but not before placing a small piece of paper to act as a bookmark. Falling back onto his bed, he tried to ignore the commotion upstairs. Turning his head, he stared at the walkie-talkie placed on his makeshift bedside table. The turn of the doorknob at the top of the stairs interrupted his silence, and before anyone could yell at him again, he swung his legs to stand up, yelling, “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Once in the kitchen, he saw Nancy stirring a pot for Karen, who was tiding up the counter with a washcloth. Jonathan was taking the plates from the cabinet. Mike furrowed his brow. “Is Will still at your place?” Being addressed, Jonathan turned toward Mike with a confused look on his face.

“What, he’s not with you?”

Mike huffed and rolled his eyes, gesturing at himself to say an obvious “no”. Nancy looked back at Jonathan.

“How come we keep losing that kid?” Mike heard Nancy say while he turned away from the kitchen, rushing up the stairs to his old room. As he got closer, Mike heard quiet murmuring voices coming from the room. Turning the doorknob, he saw Will and Richie seated across from each other, Richie wildly waving his arms and putting on some sort of accent.

“—it’s the country bumpkin in him—y’know? I have to talk about his truck,” Richie said using a poor southern accent.

“But—Richie you already talked about his truck in the first line. We should try and have a different attribute for each letter—,” Will said, laughing in between words.

“Hey, that’s a big part of his personality there. It—.”

“You need to help set the table,” Mike interrupted. Will and Richie whipped their heads toward the door, both surprised. Mike stood there, the hand on the doorknob clenched tightly around the metal. Richie pushed his paper and book to the side, slowly coming to stand.

“Auntie Karen requires my assistance?” Mike stared at him, expressionless. Will tidied up the papers for a moment before standing up, eyeing Mike. Richie bent down to grab a shirt with a loud grunt, straightening his back with a crack. Will slipped past Mike and down the stairs, Mike watching him trot to the first floor. Once Will was out of sight, he turned.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” he asked.

Richie gasped. “Michael Bartholomew Wheeler.”

Mike grimaced, “What—that’s not—what—.”

“How could you use such foul language in this house, you—,” he placed a hand over his heart, “beast.” Richie haphazardly threw on his shirt, groaning as he twisted his body to get it over his head. Mike shook his head and furrowed his brow.

“You know what, I don’t want to deal with you. Just stay away from my friend,” Mike said turning to leave.

Richie gave a snort. “What—you afraid I’m gonna steal him or something?”

Mike whipped his head back. “It’s not like you haven’t stolen anything before.”

Richie paused, raising his eyes to meet Mike’s. For a moment, they stared at each other, both refusing to break the gaze. Richie tipped his chin up so he was looking down at Mike, Mike staring up at him past his eyebrows.

From the kitchen, Karen called, “I don’t see a set table in here,” from the dining room.

Mike let his eyes stay on Richie’s for a moment longer before turning and heading down the stairs.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title song—Cat People
> 
> TENSION  
> there is tension  
> again sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback and critiques are welcome (pls validate me)


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